The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya
by ElisiansBane
Summary: After his 18th birthday, Yuuri's demon and human halves start to merge. The process is both physically and mentally painful for him and it is not uncommon for half-breeds to die during the process or succumb to insanity. Yuuram.
1. Chapter 1

Hello people!

This is my sixth? Story for the Kyou Kara Maou fandom. This one is a new spin on the dynamic between Yuuri, his Maou form and his growing powers. This story was inspired by mythology surrounding water, demonic possession and horror films. I was watching the films The Exorcism of Emily Rose and A Haunting in Connecticut the other day and I found myself putting Yuuri in the possessed character's place and I thought it fit really well with his own developing powers with a very dark twist. This is more of a drama because I don't think I can do horror very well, but here's a shot. I do hope you all enjoy it. Please review and leave your input, but no flames.

Note: I try to avoid using Japanese terms in an English story, so to avoid confusion between Shin Makoku demons and demons of the underworld kind, I will refer to the spirits as geists and evil demonic spirits as spectres.

Warning: Violence, Sexual themes, language.

Pairings: YuurixWolfram, YuurixOC (not really, don't get your panties in a knot)

Summary: After his 18th birthday, Yuuri's demon and human halves start to merge. The process is both physically and mentally painful for him and it is not uncommon for half-breeds to die during the process or succumb to insanity. Yuuri begins to see and hear things that aren't there, and a dark presence torments him daily fulfilling an ancient curse and determined to destroy anything it can touch. Yuuri tragically finds himself alone in his struggle when those closest to him refuse to believe him, thinking that he is simply suffering from the change and/or trying to get out of marrying his estranged fiancé, Wolfram. Will Yuuri break the curse? Or will he end up like hundreds of other half-breed demons and fall into madness?

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Prologue – The Last One

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'It will all be over soon. Please let it be over soon!' thought the lone figure as it stumbled up the stairs.

The young man was crouched; head swinging from side to side like a hunted animal trying to escape as he climbed further and further into the giant north tower of Blood Pledge. He was being chased, by someone, something, he didn't know what. Invisible hands grabbed and swung at his heels and the hem of his coat and tripped him. Behind him, he could hear the voices, always the voices. Calling for him, taunting him, begging for a thousand different things, either intending to force his hand or force his death for their own comfort. For days and months those voices had haunted him, spilling their secrets and telling him their sins, asking for a forgiveness that could not be given. It wasn't his to give but because he was the only one who could hear their pleas, they sought him nonetheless.

He had tried to listen, had tried to understand their plight for some of them were indeed desperate for help, for someone to care. He had tried to help them, but he found that the more he helped, the more they demanded of him, and some would threaten him if he did not comply with their wishes.

He could not stop the scream that tore through his body when the second he tripped and hit the stone stairs, the hands were all over him. Groping, touching and molesting him, molesting his body and his mind as they filled him with their hate, their regret, their sadness, their insanity. He found that he couldn't breathe as the weight of the emotions of a thousand souls bore down in his frail form. He struggled with everything he had to break free, but the hands held fast and he was trapped.

"Let me go!" He yelled, arms and legs flailing in any direction to break the icy hold. "Let me go, damn you! I can't do anything!"

He screamed again when the hands turned to claws and his skin was torn. He sobbed and begged for them to stop, but they kept yelling at him and wailing, drowning out his cries for mercy.

"Leave me alone!" He sobbed, tears streamed down his pale cheeks. "Leave me alone! Just go away!"

With a final cry, he somehow managed to break free of their hold. Without looking back, he scrambled to his feet and ran up the stairs, still hearing the outraged yells of the dead behind him.

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Alphonse urged his legs to run faster.

He fought with all his mental strength to bite down the panic and fear that was growing inside his gut. He tore through the halls of the palace, a blue and red blur to those who stood still and watched him fly by with confusion.

Alphonse had never been so scared in his entire life. A trained soldier and magic user, he had been taught to never let his feelings get the best of him. He had perfected that skill over decades of service in the military and he prided himself on always remaining calm and level-headed no matter the situation. Except for this one.

He had no idea where his charge could be. He had left to get dinner when he returned and found that the room they shared had been torn to pieces and ransacked. The curtains were in shreds, the bed had been over turned and anything that was on the shelves and tables had been savagely thrown to the ground and shattered. The room's only occupant gone.

He was aroused from his shock when he heard a single cry from down the hallway and he immediately recognized it. He ran back into the vast hall just in time to see the thin figure of his charge disappear around the corner. He took off after him, shoving past anyone who happened to be in the way and ignoring the indignant yelps in his wake.

He turned another corner just in time to see a white clad figure disappear up the stairwell leading to the tower.

He had made it up three flights of stair when he heard a panicked voice.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Just go away!" Along with another shrill cry and then quick footsteps up the stairs.

"Niklas!" Alphonse shouted. "Niklas, wait for me. I'm coming!" He rushed up the stairwell in hot pursuit of the other man.

All he got for an answer was a pained wail. He wasn't even sure if Niklas had heard him, but he continued on.

Just when he thought that the stairs would never end. He reached the top of the stairwell. He saw the door flung wide open into the spring night. The full moon silhouetting the petite figure perched in the edge of the railing, staring down into the courtyard below.

Alphonse staggered through the doorframe, heaving, eyes fixed on the person in front of him.

"Niklas!" he wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. "Niklas!"

The man stiffened when he heard his name. He slowly turned around, seemingly unsure if this was his Alphonse or just another illusion.

"Al?" he said tentatively.

Alphonse looked up and gave his most comforting smile. "What are you doing up here, Nikki? Come down and let's get you back in bed. You look a mess." He really did. Niklas' brown hair was strewn about in a wild halo, his body was crunched over the rail, the wind blew his loose jacket and trousers around his too-thin form, the color drained form his face giving him a sickly pallor.

But it was his eyes that struck Alphonse the most. They were the eyes of someone who was being tormented and haunted. Scared and hopeless.

And mad.

"Please." Alphonse said softly. "Get down, Nikki. We only want to help you!"

Niklas sneered. "You can't help me! They can't help me. They've only made things worse! The drugs, the needles, the painful magic, the feeding tube! It only hurts!"

"Those things hurt, but they will make you better, I promise." Alphonse tried to reason.

"No they won't!" Niklas shrieked. The force of his scream caused him to wobble precariously, his weight made the rail shake. "They never do! Because _I'm not sick!"_

Alphonse was at a loss. He knew of the hallucinations, the doctors had warned him of the change's side effects and how to deal with it properly, but he was never sure how to talk Niklas through them. "Yes you are. You just don't realize it because the illness makes you see things. Come down Nikki!"

"Why won't you believe me?" Niklas begged with heartbreaking sadness. "I'm telling the truth! I wouldn't lie about something like this!"

"I know you wouldn't, Nikki. Please don't be upset, just…just come down!" Alphonse said unable keep the rising panic out of his voice. He offered his hand to Niklas, cautiously moving closer to the hysterical man.

Niklas stared at Alphonse's out stretched hand. He contemplated whether he would go back with him and back to the probing and the medicine that made him puke, branded a madman and forever be a slave to the voices or end it once and for all and join them.

"Please, Nikki." Alphonse said with quiet desperation. "Please, I…I love you."

Niklas's blue eyes widened at Alphonse's confession. But he didn't know if Alphonse meant it or if he was trying to placate him. "You…do?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, Niklas." Alphonse smiled. "I do. And I would never let them do anything to you that you don't want them to. I swear it. Just, please, come down from there."

Niklas hesitated for one moment. Alphonse began to worry again, but he calmed when a look of resolve and acceptance crossed his beloved's face. Niklas extended a thin hand towards Alphonse's waiting one. Long fingers ghosted over his short ones just within reach.

What happened next shocked them both.

Niklas was about to close his hand around Alphonse's when he felt something cold and vice-like grab the hand that was still holding onto the railing. It violently yanked Niklas's hand from the bar and tried to pull him over the rail. He screamed as his free hand grasped desperately for his lover, for anything to keep from falling.

Alphonse gasped when Niklas hand was suddenly torn from him. He barely had time to react when Niklas was dragged away from him and towards the five hundred foot drop from the balcony to the gardens. He scrambled forward just as Niklas's torso was flipping over the edge.

"Alphonse!" Niklas shrieked as he grabbed desperately for his lover.

As his love fell over the edge and to his death, Alphonse made one desperate grasp for the hem of Niklas' jacket, but he only caught the very tip and in an instant Niklas disappeared over the rail the only proof of his presence was the tortured screams of the two men.

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya – Chapter One – Growing Pains

Conrad waited for his charge in the long hallway leading to the ballroom. He had spent the entire three day celebration escorting his king from one place to the other as he went about the various ceremonies and tributes that were given in his honor by the nobility and the people of Shin Makoku in honor of his eighteenth birthday. For three days and nights there had been endless feasting, toasting and dancing and other things associated with a royal birthday slash third anniversary of King Yuuri's reign. This would be the fourth and final night, the biggest celebration in which all the allies, aristocrats from all over the world would congregate for this final end-all-be-all party that would last well into the wee hours of the morning.

Conrad inwardly commended his godson for being able to keep up with the fast pace and endlessness of the proceedings. He knew that deep down, Yuuri would have been fine with a small dinner party and a few close friends and family, maybe even bring his family from Earth to visit and got out or something. But such is not the case for royal birthdays, especially the birthday that fell on the third year of the monarch's reign.

There was a superstition in Shin Makoku, that the first three years of a king's reign were fraught with all sorts of bad luck and misfortune, so much in fact that the third year was marked with huge party and various good luck ceremonies in which the gods were asked to give their blessing. In a way Conrad could understand the tradition. Certainly the first year of Yuuri's reign alone had been filled with a multitude of misfortunes that could fill an entire three years. War, kidnappings, political assassinations, racial tension, and marriage proposals had taken up the majority of the first year alone and yet they still had to deal with the drama and general pettiness of the aristocracy. Yuuri in his youth had somehow managed to get through it and come out the other end a stronger man for it.

Conrad turned his head when he heard the light thumps of familiar steps approach him. A soft smile appeared on his face as he watched his king and godson walk towards him with a pensive expression on his face. Yuuri looked up from his musings and gave Conrad a little nod in greeting. Conrad silently missed the days when Yuuri would give him a huge grin and a wild wave whenever he saw his godfather. But that time was no more. Now eighteen years old, Yuuri had grown into a young man. His face and body only bore tiny traces of the awkward boy he had once been. Shoulders had broadened, voice had deepened, legs and arms had grown longer and more muscular, the body filled out and he moved with an air of quiet control. He looked regal in his new black uniform and shoulder length hair that fell around his shoulders. The desire of every male and female noble in the kingdom and a fan base that rivaled Wolfram's. But despite all this maturation, Yuuri still possessed his kind and friendly nature, albeit more reserved and observant.

Conrad gave a slight bow when Yuuri came near. "Good evening, your Ma-"

"Ehp!" Yuuri reprimanded, holding up his palm. Some things never changed. Although Yuuri had recently opted for making a sharp noise instead of reciting his old call-me-Yuuri-speech to his godfather.

Conrad chuckled. "Good evening, Yuuri. Are you ready?"

Conrad tried not the chuckle when Yuuri gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. "I'm ready as I'll ever be. I just want to get this over with." Yuuri said. "What day are we on now?"

"The end of day three, Yuuri. This is the last one, I promise. Shall we get going?"

"If I try to run away…"

"We will seal off the gates and drain the fountains and the baths and hunt you down with dogs and the entire Voltaire cavalry."

"I thought so…Well, let's get a-going."

Conrad let Yuuri walk past him a bit before turning to join him. They continued for a bit in companionable silence, Conrad found himself having to keep up with the fast pace Yuuri's long legs had set. In a few years, he would be as tall as Conrad, a few more and he might reach Gwendal's height. This led Conrad to wonder what had the royal chefs been putting in his food to make the short boy grow so much in so little time.

Yuuri sighed heavily. "You know, we could be spending the money on something else rather than a huge party, like non-profit organizations and building schools for the poor."

"The party is for you to converse with your subordinates and the political leaders to build goodwill and friendship. All you have to do really is mingle and chat and dance and the like and before you know it, it will be over." Conrad said patiently.

"I did all that yesterday and the day before. I'm running out of things to talk about." The young monarch grumbled.

"I'm sure you'll find something to talk about. Did you prepare your speech?"

Yuuri frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Conrad asked.

"I don't like it. It seems so…so…" Yuuri struggled to find the right word. "Corny, and kind of fake."

"But your speeches are always so welcoming and personable. Even the serious ones." Conrad said.

"I know. I just don't like this one. Gunter was telling me I need to make it sound more regal and monarch-y. But I couldn't get it right. It was just not me, you know?"

"Yuuri." Conrad gently touched Yuuri's arm reassuringly. "I'm sure it's fine. And writing your own speeches takes time and practice. You'll be fine."

"You sure?" Yuuri said skeptically.

"I'm sure. Here we are."

As they approached the grand entrance to the ballroom, they could hear the faint music of the chamber orchestra playing a light waltz as the guests waited for the guest of honor. As was custom, the king was always the last one to enter and begin the night's festivities with an opening speech, which Yuuri hated with a passion. He had never liked being the center of attention and he really disliked having to speak in front of large crowds, especially extra judgmental crowds like the nobility of Shin Makoku.

A shaky breath alerted Conrad's concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Yuuri said. "Just a little nervous"

"There's no need to be. We are all behind you." Conrad said, smiling cheerfully, then a thought entered his mind. "By the way, did you remember to see Gisela this morning?"

A nod.

"What did she say?" Conrad said, leaning forward to hear Yuuri's reply discreetly.

"She still can't find anything wrong with me. She doesn't know why I'm having these pain episodes as she calls them. They might due to stress. She just doesn't know." Yuuri said, sounding frustrated at the lack of a diagnosis. "She gave me some pain medicine and said to let her know if I have another 'fit'."

"Did you take it?"

"Yes."

"Did you rest this morning like we told you?"

"Yes, Mother." Yuuri rolled his eyes. "I'll just have to endure it. It doesn't seem to be getting worse."

Conrad looked the double black straight in the eyes. "If you experience any sort of pain." He said seriously. "I simply insist that you alert me, Gwendal, Gunter or Wolfram immediately."

"I will."

"I mean it, Yuuri."

"I will!" Yuuri said irritably. "I'm not a kid anymore, I can look after myself."

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to push yourself. We care about you."

"I know and I appreciate it." Yuuri gave Conrad a small smile. "I will let you know if anything happens."

They were interrupted when a lavender haired man dressed in white robes poked his head through the doors to the ballroom. "There you are, your Majesty!" he whispered. "We were beginning to wonder where you had gotten to! It's time for the introduction. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Gunter, I'm ready." Yuuri said pleasantly. "Conrad's just giving me my customary pep-talk. Aren't you Conrad?"

"Yes, your-"

"Ahp!"

"-Yuuri…"

"Well, if you are finished. Will it please you if we begin the introduction speech?" Gunter asked.

"Yes." Yuuri nodded. "Go ahead and get started."

"Yes, your Majesty." Gunter dipped his head in respect and closed the door. Yuuri and Conrad heard the music gradually stop and Gunter's airy voice enthusiastically begin his introduction of the king.

Knowing Gunter, Conrad knew they had at least five minutes as the royal advisor made various flowery allusions to Yuuri and his accomplishments. He turned hesitantly towards Yuuri who now stood at his side, focused intensely on the closed doors. Even though he was still and quiet, Conrad could tell by the changing glints in Yuuri's eyes that the younger man was juggling a dozen different thoughts through his head at once, planning, organizing, adjusting, coping. Something that would have been unusual a couple years ago, but now Yuuri tended to think about things a little more and say less. Conrad guessed it came with age and with the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom. Or it could be due to the heated conversation Yuuri had in his office that morning with Gwendal and Gunter and Wolfram's uncle. Conrad had not been present, but from what he had heard, Waltorana had demanded that Yuuri make a decision and announce his plans for his engagement during his speech. Period. Needless to say, it had not gone smoothly between the king and the hotheaded Bielefeld patriarch.

Conrad opened and closed his mouth a couple times before finally breaching the question. "Have you come to a decision about what you and-"

"Yeah." Yuuri replied shortly, automatically assuming the subject of Conrad's question.

"Did you talk about it with him?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

A very slight shrug. "What is there to do? It's been three years and no sign of ending it. The aristocrats demand that I marry a demon and soon so that in the untimely case of my horrendous death, there will be someone to take over."

"So you're..?" Conrad drifted off, letting Yuuri fill in the blank..

"I'm going to marry him." Yuuri stated with sullen finality. "That's part of my speech, a big wedding announcement so everyone can relax. God forbid, my love life concerns only me." A slight sneer curved Yuuri's lips.

"Is that what you want?" Conrad pressed.

Yuuri gave a short bark of a laugh. "Since when did what I want matter?" He said bitterly. Then his face softened. "It wouldn't be so bad. It's a smart choice. Wolfram comes from a powerful and wealthy family, he has all the training and credentials, I suppose. He's proven his devotion and his trustworthiness." Yuuri paused. "He's also my best friend. I'd rather marry my best friend than a total stranger."

"Marriage is a serious thing, Yuuri. Once it's done it cannot be taken back. It's much harder to end a marriage than an engagement." Conrad warned.

"I know." Yuuri said dismissively. "Besides, nothing will change."

Conrad was about to tell Yuuri that such was not the case and that everything would change, but when he opened his mouth, he heard the final words of Gunter's speech.

"-and now it is my greatest honor and pleasure to introduce the Protector and Voice of our beloved nation, the pride of Shin Makoku, our savior and redeemer, His Honored Majesty The 27th Demon King, Yuuri Shibuya!"

The crowd burst into thrilling applause and a few shouts eagerly welcoming their young king.

Yuuri straightened his posture and trained his face into a calm smile akin to the ones Conrad always had. He steadied himself and lifted his chin and walked deliberately through the doors as the doormen opened them with royal flourish. Before he stepped into the blinding light of the chandeliers, he turned to face his godfather one last time. Conrad was momentarily struck by the steady gaze Yuuri gave him. His black eyes holding more depth and understanding than most people would associate with the young monarch and a little bit of sadness.

"It's for the best. You'll see." And with that, Yuuri turned his back to Conrad and strode out onto the landing.

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Yuuri had to blink a few times before his eyes could adjust to the magnificent lights of the ballroom. A roaring applause assaulted his ears as the audience renewed their efforts when they saw him appear from behind the ornate black painted doors. He moved to stand between a smiling Gunter and an ever stoic Gwendal and face his guests. He looked out over the many heads gathered below him and was unnerved at the sheer number of people that had somehow managed to cram themselves into the ballroom, making the space, which was at least of size of a baseball field, look cramped and small. The walls were decorated with thousands of flower garlands and ribbons and the ceiling had no less than six giant crystal chandeliers, fully lit and glowing like a row of suns.

Yuuri breathed, trying to fight back the growing anxiety that manifested in his gut. He knew that nervousness would only make things worse and for the last few weeks, it could trigger a fit. He took a moment to gather his wits and size up his audience. He felt a small twinge of comfort when he saw that most of the guests were good friends and acquaintances he had made over the years of his rule. Among his friends from Caloria, Franchire, and Svelera, there were dozens of ambassadors, messengers, and relatives of people Yuuri had only met two days before, but nonetheless deserved an equal amount of attention. His eyes automatically sought out the comforting faces of his fiancé and daughter. He saw them standing among the nobility from Bielefeld near the front of the crowd of course. Since they were only fiancés, there was no need for Wolfram to stand next to him while he gave his speech. Wolfram, along with his uncle Lord Waltorana von Bielefeld acted as representatives of their family together. Greta stood next to her father, looking very much like the king's daughter in an elaborate pink chiffon gown with lace trim and pearls woven into her curly dark hair. Wolfram was dressed in his formal uniform, though now it bore touches of black embroidery and trim to signify his status as future Consort. His golden hair framed his fine face that was dressed in its customary scowl. No doubt, Wolfram was probably still mulling over the conversation they had that morning in his office.

Yuuri met Wolfram's gaze for a bit and the blonde man twitched an eyebrow impatiently when Yuuri lingered a split second too long. Yuuri cleared his throat and gathered his wits and addressed the expectant crowd.

"Aristocrats and allies, friends and family." He began making sure his voice was big enough to carry to the back of the room, but not obnoxiously loud. "I thank you all for joining me and my kingdom in this wonderful event, the third year of my reign as king of Shin Makoku." Yuuri smiled politely at the responding applause and patiently waited for them to die down before continuing. "I speak for everyone when I say that these past three years have been a great challenge, we have all faced a multitude of changes; a new king, new alliances and the renewal of old ones. We have had to make great adjustments for the sake of our collective kingdoms and fiefdoms and the sake of those who serve us loyally. We have had to make personal and outward adjustments as humans and demon come together for the first time to usher in a new era of peace and prosperity and personal growth as we share in our desire for peace for our kingdoms and for the world in the hopes that our efforts will make it a better place for later generations."

Another round of applause. Yuuri smiled again.

"You have all done a wonderful job in making this vision come true. While there will still be those who oppose this vision, I believe wholeheartedly that it is a vision worth pursuing no matter what and perfectly capable of achieving. I thank you all form the very bottom of my heart for all that you have done in the name of peace. And in this fourth year of my reign as King of Shin Makoku, we will overcome even more challenges and make this world even better. Together."

A particularly enthusiastic applause coupled with cheers and shouts of encouragement from his closest friends. He continued.

"In regards to together, I have an announcement to make. It is one that most of you have been waiting for since the beginning." Yuuri nodded his head towards at Wolfram, who had maintained a stern look throughout the speech. The few who caught this gesture chuckled good –naturedly. Greta clasped her hands together hopefully, a wide smile on her face, knowing what was to come.

"It fills me with great joy…" Yuuri closed his eyes briefly, doubt stirring within, gathering his thoughts. He opened them with a determined gaze and said. "To announce the wedding of Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld and myself to be held in six months time and to extend my personal invitation to all of you in attendance to share in our joy."

There was a pause that lasted a second or two before the audience went wild with applause and cheers of congratulations and whistles. There had been much speculation and rumors surrounding the relationship of his majesty and lord Wolfram, most had thought the engagement would end and that the special announcement in Yuuri's speech would be his new bachelorhood and subsequent availability. True, many were so convinced of this that they brought their children, nieces and nephews along in the hopes that they could court the king and if not him, his fiancé. But such was not the case, and those hopeful had to bite down their disappointment and properly congratulate their king.

Yuuri's smile widened, happy that he had made it through the speech. He looked down towards his fiancé. Wolfram was currently being jostled and fussed over by the various members of his clan, a thin smile pressed on his face, while Greta clung to his arm, mouth moving a mile a minute, finally happy that she would be a part of a real family. Yuuri was glad that at least he was making his daughter happy and he hoped that ultimately he had made the right decision. Deep down, he was upset that he had been pressured into making a decision on his engagement that morning and he felt a tinge of anger that Gwendal, Gunter and Waltorana had ganged up on him like they did and forced him to decide. Yuuri, after being told if he didn't do something and soon, there would be terrible consequences in the form of political upheaval, hesitantly conceded to wed Wolfram. He had spent the entire day trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do and he would be doing this for the sake of the country and make Wolfram and his daughter happy.

Wolfram finally broke free of the tight circle of people and made his way up the grand staircase to Yuuri's side. Green eyes met black and neither broke contact until the demon prince had reached Yuuri's side and taken his hand and stood beside him. Yuuri offered him a confident smile that got him a 'hmph' in return. He could tell that the announcement had not quite sunken in for Wolfram. He wondered if the proud demon had resigned himself to a life of matrimonial purgatory and the thought of salvation was nearly impossible to comprehend. Yuuri hoped that in the end, he could make it up to Wolfram for all the years he had been by his side.

Yuuri addressed the audience one last time, making sure his voice carried. "Please join me and my fiancé in celebrating our marriage and another successful year for our kingdom!"

The audience cheered as the couple silently descended the stairs to join the party. Gwendal, Gunter and Conrad following close behind them.

Gunter leaned over to whisper in Yuuri's ear. "Excellent! Eloquent as always your Majesty! Never had there been such a beautiful speech that so accurately captured the spirit of the celebration!"

Yuuri smiled brightly. "Thanks, Gunter. I couldn't have done it without you."

Yuuri heard the typical swoon of "Oh your majesty!" as he reached the bottom and was immediately engulfed with dozens of well-wishers as the music began and the food was finally brought out to the hungry and jovial guests.

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Yuuri quietly sipped at his drink, seated at one of the long tables that lined the dance floor. In between the stream of guests talking to him and congratulating him, he had found time to sit and rest for a bit. The food had been exceptionally good this evening and Yuuri, who had not eaten since very early that morning, had made the mistake of eating just a little too much. He had been careful of his manners of course, forcing himself to not wolf down everything in front of his guests, but he had managed to fill his growling belly nonetheless. So he sat, nursing a glass of sweetened wine, waiting for his stomach to settle before the first dance.

Yuuri was feeling particularly relaxed. The last three days had been busy and stressful, but the various events and duties had gone by smoothly and quickly. He was glad that this was the last of the endless parties and social gatherings he would have to endure for quite some time, at least until his wedding.

The young king scanned the occupants of the huge ballroom. He had taken to silently watching his guests mingle with each other whenever he had the chance. His mother would call it people-watching and Yuuri found it interesting and insightful.

Anissina and her brother, the head of the Karbelnikoff, were bickering about something. It appeared form the twinkle in her eyes that Anissina was trying to convince her brother of something, maybe a new invention or funding for a new one. Stoffel von Spitzweg was chatting up Lord Gyllenhaal and Gwendal was talking military things no doubt with Lord Brunswick. Conrad was by the punch bowl with Yozak, who had forgone his usual dress in favor of a dark red tunic and trousers, they were talking quietly, probably reminiscing if the faraway look in Conrad's eyes was any indication. Greta was sitting with Lady Cheri, gaudy as ever, dripping with precious stones, they were pointing and giggling at all the handsome young men in the room, one particular brunet seemed to have their attention. Wolfram was engaged in a very serious conversation by the balcony with his uncle. Waltorana's back was to Yuuri and he could see the glances Wolfram was giving him, whenever he spoke.

'Waltorana's probably giving him instructions on how not to screw this up' Yuuri thought dryly.

Contrary to what others may have believed, Yuuri was just as good at reading people as the last person. He just didn't always show it or use it to his advantage. Or maybe he did. Some had said that Yuuri had a gift for making friends with just about anyone, enemy or not and it could be attributed to his understanding of that person and connecting with them on their level that keen observation would allow. Some would use their understanding of another to exploit them and certainly it was the rule of thumb in politics, but Yuuri preferred to use his observations to bring out the best in people.

Right now, Yuuri's observation skills were telling him that his retainers were tense and watching him very closely. Closer than normal. Despite their separate conversations, Yuuri could tell that they were watching and waiting for whatever they thought might happen if they took their gazes away for one second.

Yuuri couldn't blame them really. His health hadn't been in the best shape lately. Too much work and not enough rest was the accepted explanation, but Yuuri couldn't help but feel it may be something more. Especially because of the unexpected pain he had been having.

Yuuri was interrupted from his thoughts by a sharp cramp in his abdomen. He immediately set down his glass and placed his hand over his stomach, pressing into it to relieve the discomfort.

"Oh!" He whispered, careful not to cry out and draw attention. He took several deep breaths to try and ride it out. Sometimes, the pain would go away after a few seconds and it would be as if nothing happened. Other times it would linger and intensify to a crippling agony that gripped him for hours.

Yuuri winced when the pain did indeed grow. It wasn't enough to cripple anything, but it certainly threw him off a bit. He quickly trained his face into a calm mask, sitting up rod straight in his chair. He grinded his teeth and occupied himself with taking another sip from his glass. Still breathing deeply, Yuuri positioned himself to hide his affliction.

For all his efforts to hide, Yuuri might as well have been screaming for the reaction his barely noticeable actions got from his retainers. Like a signal going off, Conrad and Yozak, Gwendal and Gunter, and Wolfram all turned their heads like a choreographed dance to where Yuuri was seated. Conrad, Gunter and Wolfram were the first to excuse themselves from their respective conversations and swiftly made their way to his table. Gwendal stayed put and watched from his position out of the corner of his eye. Yozak followed behind Conrad.

Wolfram was the first to reach him. He came to stand directly in front of Yuuri, blocking him from view of any curious onlookers. He leaned over discreetly, concern flickering through his green eyes.

"Yuuri, are you alright?" He whispered. "What's wrong?"

"I-I'm fine." Yuuri said evenly and hoped the color in his face didn't drain like it usually did when this happened. He looked up at the demon prince and smiled brightly. "No big deal."

"Are you in pain?"

"Not…really."

"Are you or aren't you?" Wolfram said curtly. He leaned in even closer so that Yuuri had no choice but to look him in the eyes. "Is it another fit?"

"It's not that bad, just a stomach cramp." Yuuri assured, he leaned away from his fiancé, they were too close. "I might have eaten too much is all."

"Your Majesty! What's wrong?" Conrad said as he finally reached them.

Wolfram answered for him. "The wimp says he's fine." From his tone, it was obvious he didn't believe that for a minute.

"Are you sure, Yuuri?" Conrad said carefully.

"What is wrong with his Majesty?" Gunter seemed to have grown out of Conrad's shoulder. "Oh, your Majesty, what ails you?" He asked with his classic flourish, he bent over with his hand hiding his mouth. "Is it another 'fit'?"

"Guys!" Yuuri said exasperatedly. He weakly waved them all back. They immediately gave him a few inches of space. "I said it's okay! I ate too much and I got a cramp. Happens all the time! I'm okay."

They all stared at him for a moment. It was clear that they didn't believe his explanation. They knew from experience that he tended to hide things from them. Yuuri seemed to have a fear of being a burden or causing undue trouble and yet he still got himself into it on a regular basis. Yuuri also liked to hide any illness or injury he might have. Especially this.

But Yuuri wasn't backing down.

"Don't make a scene." He warned.

Wolfram looked like he was about to say something when Gwendal, having excused himself from Lord Brunswick, joined them.

"Is he alright?" He asked brusquely.

"We don't know, he won't tell us!" Wolfram said irritably

"Whatever it is, take care of it. It's time for the opening dance." Gwendal said. He looked at Yuuri. "Are you capable of dancing?"

Yuuri thought for a bit. The pain had, thankfully, lessened to a dull ache that he was positive he could endure for a few minutes. He could handle one dance and then he might be able to excuse himself from the party and go lie down.

He stood up slowly from his chair, finished off his wine and gave his best signature carefree smile. "Sure, I can dance for a while." Without waiting for an answer he grabbed Wolfram's arm, ignoring the blonde's protests and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

The first dance had been pre-chosen by Yuuri himself. It was the nice and slow Calorian waltz, similar to the European waltz and the one dance Yuuri could say he was good at. He took Wolfram's right hand into his left and placed his right hand on the blonde's slim waist. With a nod to the orchestra, the music began. Yuuri lead his fiancé through some basic steps before doing some small turns. He made a wide arc with his partner around the entire floor, not once looking down at his feet or faltering.

"You've gotten better." Wolfram mumbled, expertly keeping up with Yuuri's steps.

Yuuri chuckled nervously. "I've been practicing with Gunter. We finally found a dance I could do halfway decent."

The corners of Wolfram's mouth twitched, the only indication of a smile. "My feet thank him."

"Yeah…" Yuuri breathed a little harshly. It seemed the ache had decided to renew intensity. He collected himself and pulled Wolfram into another turn.

As his body rotated, Wolfram's eyes never left Yuuri's face. His eyes narrowed when he picked up on Yuuri's slight hiccup.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Yuuri-"

"I'm okay, Wolf. Really." Yuuri said defensively.

"No, you're not. You may think yourself matured and controlled, but you're still a god awful liar." Wolfram pulled himself closer to Yuuri as they continued to twirl around the dance floor. "And you should know by now, you can't hide from me. I'm your fiancé."

Yuuri sighed. "I know."

"Hmph."

Yuuri studied Wolfram for a bit. "Are you okay, yourself? I'd thought you'd be a bit happier. Given the news."

Wolfram averted his gaze from Yuuri, focusing his attention on the onlookers who whispered conspiratorially behind lace fans and gloved hands. No doubt they were scrutinizing the royal couple's interactions, how close they were, how much they talked and touched each other during the dance, as if it was a clear indication of the state of their relationship or lack of it.

"I… know things have been tense between us lately." Yuuri continued. "I know that I haven't given you the recognition you want or deserve. Things have been just so busy lately, I never gave it much thought, but I think this is a good thing. It will be good for the country, you know? And besides, we won't have to worry about marrying strangers, we'll be married to a friend and you'll be spared any embarrassment and I can be free to rule without the nobles on my case all day. It will be fine. It will be fine."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Wolfram said harshly.

"What?" Yuuri said. The pain made a tiny jab under his ribs. He could feel it crawling up his stomach and into his lungs. He tried hard not to wince. He reflexively tightened his grip on Wolfram's hand.

Wolfram didn't seem to notice. He stared at Yuuri with a conflicted expression, a dozen tumultuous emotions playing behind his deep green eyes.

" I know very well what this marriage means politically. I know that my family has been pushing for this union since the day you slapped me. For three years, I have waited for you to make good on your promise and stood by as my reputation crumbled around me and I became the butt of every unrequited love joke across the kingdom."

Yuuri grimaced slightly. He knew very well about Wolfram's reputation and what it had come to. He wasn't deaf or blind, he saw the looks people gave him and he knew of every rumor that surrounded the both of them. "Well, now your reputation can be salvaged or you can make a new one." Yuuri stated simply. "No one will question you or the engagement." He never referred to it as 'their' engagement. It stood alone as a single entity in Yuuri's mind. Some strange other that impeded on their friendship.

"This isn't about my reputation!" Wolfram hissed.

"Then what is it about?" Yuuri asked, the pain making him speak a little more harshly than intended. "If this is about my feelings, then don't worry about it." He looked deeply into Wolfram's gaze. "I care about you, Wolfram." He said with as much conviction as he could muster. "I trust you. You're, like, my best friend. I can do this, for you, for the kingdom. It will work out, you'll see."

Wolfram looked at him sad and angry. "So that's it? We'll just stay friends for the rest of our lives? Everything stays the same? You should know better by now, Yuuri."

"Wolfram, I- ah!" Yuuri gasped, he suddenly let go of Wolfram.

It was like a white-hot knife had been driven into his gut and sliced up to his chest. Yuuri could no longer hide his suffering when the pain that had been toying with his insides finally decided to reveal itself in the most devastating way possible.

Yuuri's knees gave out from the shock and he collapsed against the frozen form of his fiancé. He weakly gripped at the fabric of Wolfram's uniform as he tried vainly to keep his body from sliding to the floor. The room began to spin and his vision blurred. The loud pumping of blood through his ears drowned out the sounds of gasps and cries for help. He vaguely felt Wolfram grab his upper arms and gently lower him to the floor and call out to him. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Conrad and Yozak rushing towards him. He heard the muffled voice of Gwendal trying to gain crowd control and push back any curious spectators. The last thing he remembered through the haze of absolute agony was Conrad picking him up like he weighed nothing and swiftly carrying him out of the ballroom.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Well, what do you think? Good? Bad? What the hell is going on?

Can I clear up a few things?

Because this fic is rated T and may go up to M, I have made Yuuri and Wolfram a little older. And since they are older, they still have their original personalities just toned down a slight bit. I wanted to make Yuuri more insightful and mature and not nearly as dense as most authors like to make him. I figured that in a few years, Yuuri would have grown up a bit instead of stayed the same. That's what irritates me about fan fic authors and even the writers of the anime, All the other characters get to develop and grow but Yuuri stays the same and not only is that unrealistic, it's unfair. It's like the Wolfram fangirls (no offense) use fan fiction to bash Yuuri and it's become this bash-fest of anti-Yuuri proportions! Yuuri is fifteen and then sixteen in the anime, how do you expect someone that young to act? Like a full-fledged adult? Heck no! And a teen boy nonetheless, teen boys are notoriously homophobic, it's in their DNA, but it has nothing to do with hate, it's about society's pressures on teen boys to act manly and part of acting manly means liking girls. Yuuri is a product of his environment. Wolfram isn't a pitiful little victim either. Half of the behavior that fangirls call cute, the DAPA would call verbal and physical abuse. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Yuuram, I just think there needs to be more balance.

Ahem, I seem to have gone on a slight rant. Do pardon me. I mean no offense.

Please review and tell me what you think. But please be nice.

Ciao Bella! - EB


	2. Chapter 2 The First Day

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya – Chapter Two: Will You Save Me? (The First Day)

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Yuuri awoke to the same white-hot pain that had knocked him unconscious. A weak groan escaped from between dry lips as he struggled to open his eyes. For all his effort he might as well have kept them closed. All he could see were blurry colorful figures standing around his prone form. He could feel the soft sheets of his bed being pulled back and someone holding his hand. Yuuri was lying on his side, curled in a loose ball. He turned his head slightly to see who was touching him. A blue figure was seated next to him, its blonde head facing him, staring at him, the headache made his vision too poor to make out the face but he didn't need to. Only one person in his entire life looked like that.

"W-Wolfram?" He rasped and nearly stopped when he heard the ugliness of his hoarse voice.

The figure immediately stiffened and placed a cool hand in Yuuri's sweaty forehead.

"Shh, be still. Gisela is on her way here to examine you," came Wolfram's voice.

On cue, Yuuri heard his bedroom door swing open and a rush of determined footsteps and mumbled greetings. Wolfram's blurry figure was replaced by a white one with a green head. This figure set down what looked like a black bag and rummaged through the contents, while closely examining Yuuri.

"How long has he been like this?" Gisela asked curtly, opening her doctor's bag.

"For the past half hour!" Wolfram said, trepidation evident in his voice. "He hasn't moved at all from that position. He keeps moaning and yelping every time the pain grows worse! He can't even speak!"

Gisela nodded, used to dealing with patients' antsy family members.

"I see. Let me take a look then."

Conrad, Gwendal, Gunter and Wolfram stood around the large four-poster bed, looking on worriedly as Gisela laid out various instruments and bottles on the nightstand. Gunter was rambling on about the suffering that had befallen his beloved king, Wolfram was impatiently tapping his foot, arms crossed, hiding his mounting concern with annoyance, Conrad and Gwendal stood still as statues alert and waiting for anything that Yuuri or Gisela might need.

Gisela, the chief military physician and personal doctor to the king, performed various tests and examinations with steady and swift accuracy. The pale green glow of healing magic emanated from her palms as she checked Yuuri's internal health for any indication of what could be causing his affliction. They could all see the brilliant healer growing frustrated when even her magic yielded nothing and without a diagnosis or some idea of what could be wrong, she could not begin proper treatment.

She let forth a quiet growl when her magic failed for the third time. Personally affronted by the lack of progress, she gritted her teeth and leaned forward to try a fourth time.

Yuuri could feel Gisela's magic pulsing through his body, wandering and searching for the source of his pain. He could feel the energy mixing with his own, trying to push past the internal boundaries of his magic and dig deeper into his self. The healing magic must have dug a little too deep for it touched a certain spot within Yuuri and it sent a sharp jolt through his chest that made him jerk away from Gisela's touch.

Gisela immediately stopped the magic flow, startled by his sudden movement. "Oh, your majesty! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" She exclaimed.

All Yuuri did was emit a soft groan and roll over to his other side, instinctively recoiling from the cause of his suffering.

Gisela averted her gaze and regarded the others. "I'm sorry." She said. "But I can't find anything wrong with him. According to my examination, he should and is perfectly healthy. I can't find the source of his fits."

"That can't be right!" Wolfram said incredulously.

"I have to agree," said Conrad. "If he's healthy then he shouldn't be in pain like this. It's crippling him."

"He's been like this for two months now!" Wolfram exclaimed. "You're not looking hard enough!"

Gisela lifted her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know what to say. I've tried everything I could think of to diagnose him, but nothing's coming up. I can't think of anything else to try."

"But you have to think of something. It pains me to see my dear king suffer so!" Gunter cried.

Gisela frowned considering her options. "I'll…look in some of my old textbooks," she suggested. "Maybe I'll find something in there. I could even ask my old medical teacher, he might know something."

"What about the pain?" Wolfram asked impatiently. His eyes were fixated on Yuuri, who had now recoiled into the center of the bed and was barely conscious.

Gisela pursed her lips in thought. "Here." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small purple glass bottle. "This is a new medicine from Franchire, made from a rare plant that grows in the winter. It is a very powerful pain narcotic. I would never recommend this for casual use, because the side affects are occasionally severe, but if he's in as much pain as he says he is, then I'll start him on this. After that, we'll see where we are in terms of finding the source of this illness."

"Thank you." Conrad took the bottle from Gisela and carefully turned it over in his hand. The bottle was about six inches tall and maybe three inches around. He could see a dark liquid swishing about inside the stained glass. He wondered vaguely what it tasted like. He imagined the nastiest most disgusting flavor in the world.

"Only take it when he has another fit. Never take it when he's feeling fine." Gisela said sternly. She then turned to the others, who were waiting anxiously. "When he takes this." She spoke deliberately, slowly. "One of you must be with him the entire time and monitor him for any side effects. It is known to have…psychological symptoms. Nightmares, hallucinations and delirium are possible effects."

"We will watch over him." Conrad said.

"I will watch over him, he is my fiancé, after all." Wolfram scoffed.

Conrad smiled back at him patiently. "Of course."

Gisela stood from her place at Yuuri's bedside. She quickly gathered her things and fastened her bag. "Well, my lords. If that is all, then I ask to be excused."

Gwendal, who had remained silent and distant the entire time, waved Gisela off. "You are excused." He said with his usual gruffness. "You will be summoned if anything happens."

Gisela nodded and with a slight bow, left the room as quickly as she had arrived.

As the door softly clicked shut, the three brothers returned their attention to the weakened young man on the bed. Yuuri lay absolutely still, dealing with the pain the only way he knew how; by enduring and waiting it out.

"Have the guests been taken care of?" Conrad said to Gwendal.

"Yes." The oldest brother grunted. "They'll no doubt be gossiping about this tomorrow."

"Don't they do anything else?" Conrad droned.

Wolfram moved to sit on the bed next to Yuuri, who had remained on the edge of awareness throughout the entire exchange, just barely comprehending what was unfolding around him. The blonde prince swept aside a random piece of black hair. Yuuri stirred at the touch and he cracked open glassy eyes and looked up at his fiancé weakly. Too tired to really say anything, he smiled softly up at him.

"Yuuri." Wolfram whispered. "It is late and Yuuri needs rest. Leave us." He ordered his brothers.

Conrad and Gwendal nodded and left, leaving the young couple alone.

Wolfram watched them leave. When the door closed shut behind them, he got up and fetched their nightclothes. He dressed himself first in his usual nightgown and then hesitantly unbuttoned Yuuri's undershirt. In the mayhem of earlier, they had removed his outer formal wear so he could lie comfortably and Gisela could examine him easier. Wolfram grunted as he lifted Yuuri's unresponsive form to take off the shirt and slip on the long cotton nightshirt. As the cloth ghosted over Yuuri's head, the blonde prince could hear barely audible murmurs coming from the young king.

"Hush." He ordered softly. "I'm taking care of you. Just hold still."

He finally got the shirt all the way on and gently lowered Yuuri onto his back. Wolfram noticed that Yuuri was still in his black trousers. He debated inwardly for a bit before reaching towards the buttons.

"Don't freak out, alright?" He mumbled. He cautiously undid each button, trying not to wake Yuuri and have the raven-haired man accuse him of lewd behavior. Yuuri's limp body and unresponsiveness disturbed Wolfram. He didn't know if Yuuri had been aware through the entire situation with Gisela. He looked up at Yuuri's face, it appeared that the younger man had drifted into an uneasy sleep. Yuuri lay with his hair splayed around his head like a black halo, his eyes were shut, his skin was pale, he looked like some otherworldly being that had settled there and slept.

Yuuri was a very beautiful man. His oval face was soft but still masculine, with very dark eyebrows and lashes that made it look like he wore makeup. His mouth was a bit feminine, full pinkish lips that always looked like they were about to kiss. He had a normal pointed nose, the bridge was neither flat nor pronounced, but it fit well with Yuuri's overall look.

Yes, Yuuri was indeed a very attractive person, and his personality didn't help in keeping Wolfram's rivals at bay. Yuuri was always friendly and kind to everyone and treated even the lowest of society with utmost respect and courteousness. Yuuri never gossiped or spoke harshly; he rarely even raised his voice, even when upset or angry. Yuuri had a charisma about him that drew people to him like moths to flames and it had served him well in gaining the love and trust of his people. A King who had the love of his people was a powerful man in his own right.

However, Yuuri seemed oblivious to the stares and swoons directed at him as he walked the halls of the palace. Like most things, Yuuri mistook what most would consider physical attraction for pleasantness and flirtation for friendliness.

Wolfram's mother had once told him of a special kind of beauty that only belonged to those who did not think themselves beautiful and theirs was the most desirable and rare of beauties. Yuuri was one of those people.

Wolfram pulled Yuuri's pants down, indulging himself by letting his fingers trail over the smooth skin, feeling the hardened muscle underneath. He wondered, very briefly, what it would be like to have those strong legs wrapped around him in passion. But he quickly stamped out the thought. Yuuri would never do that, would never want that. Especially not with him.

Wolfram haphazardly threw the garment to the floor. Tired from the excitement of the evening and worried for his fiancé's health, He pulled the covers over the two of them and with a wave of his hand, blew out the dozens of candles in the room. He stole one last glance at Yuuri's face in the moonlight and went to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yuuri sluggishly opened his eyes to stare at the dark canopy that hovered over his bed. He groaned quietly, drawing his hand up to rub his tired eyes. He lay there motionless, his mind momentarily blank as his body tried to collect itself enough to function. What happened? His mind began scanning his memory to make a coherent narrative of what had led to him waking up in his room, in the dark. The last thing he could recall clearly was dancing with Wolfram, the lights, spinning across the floor, talking about their wedding. Immense agony. Then nothing.

Yuuri licked his dry lips. He needed a drink and to move around. A swallow of water and some physical activity would help him reorient himself.

Yuuri lifted himself to prop up on his elbows, but found that his movements were hindered by a heavy weight upon his right side. He gave a long suffering sigh as he glared at his sleeping bedmate. The blonde man was draped over him, his arm hugged Yuuri's shoulder, one of his long legs was thrown across his lap, his forehead rested on his shoulder and Yuuri felt a wet spot on his shirt where Wolfram had drooled. Yuuri could hear the soft snoring breaking the heavy silence in the room and feel the rise and fall of Wolfram's chest against his side. This had become a too regular occurrence in the past few weeks. Yuuri would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to find Wolfram, deep in slumber, almost completely on top of him. Yuuri had at first, been disturbed by the close proximity of the other man, but as these late night encounters increased, his discomfort decreased and he simply dealt with it.

Yuuri carefully removed Wolfram's limbs and gently pushed the blonde back to his side of the huge bed. The demon barely made any movement and flopped over onto his side, dead to the world. Yuuri wondered how someone trained to be aware of his environment at all times and act with deadly precision could be such a corpse-like sleeper. A flock of savage dragons couldn't wake Wolfram and if they did, sucks to be them.

The double black threw his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He walked across the cold wooden floor to the adjacent bathroom. It used to be a part of the closet, but Yuuri's disinterest in fashion allowed for half of it to be modified into a small washroom with a mirror, sink and a shower for in between Yuuri's sword and horse riding sessions and morning workouts. With the snap of his fingers, Yuuri lit the small candle that rested on the edge of the sink. A small trick Wolfram had taught him months ago. It wasn't even fire magic, just a spark of raw energy focused into a heated point and directed at the wick of the candle.

Yuuri poured some water into the washbowl from the pitcher and splashed the cool liquid onto his face. As he dried himself off with a small towel, Yuuri continued to wrack his brain for details on what happened after he collapsed. He tried not to cringe at the fact that he had passed out in front of everyone after he had told his own retainers to not make a scene. Pushing the image to the very back of his mind, Yuuri scanned over multiple images and sounds trying to make a coherent story of what went on. He recalled being lifted and carried away, then placed on his bed, and being surrounded by weird blurry figures that leaned over him and a white figure that had examined his body. He remembered the feel of the healing magic flowing through his body, mixing with his own power, and then a sharp jolt of pain to his stomach that caused him to tear away from the invading touch.

A soft blush appeared on his face when he saw the last memory. It was of Wolfram dressing him. His eyes were closed most of the time but he knew that Wolfram had lovingly dressed him in his nightclothes. He had mumbled something to Wolfram as the blonde pulled the garment over his head. Something along the lines of not touching him and he could do it himself. The blonde had only told him to hush and continued his actions.

Yuuri's blush deepened when he remembered Wolfram taking off his pants. Through the red haze of his pain, he felt Wolfram's thin fingers linger on the exposed skin of his legs, almost like a caress and the array of emotions that played across the older man's face as he stared at Yuuri's body. Yuuri could only imagine what was going through the blonde's head and frankly he didn't want to. He was well aware of Wolfram's feelings for him and that knowledge only made him increasingly uneasy.

Dark eyes peered out from behind the towel bunched at his face. Yuuri pondered his reflection for a few seconds. He didn't think he was ugly, just not particularly good looking. His older brother Shouri had always been the handsome one, the one the girls wanted to meet and flirt with. Yuuri was just…plain. He didn't look any different from any other Japanese boy his age. The only thing different was that he had a slight European influence in his features thanks to his father, but nothing worth mentioning. Yuuri couldn't figure out what someone like Wolfram would see in him. He knew the nobility wanted him for his wealth and power, but Wolfram was different. Wolfram came from a very wealthy and powerful family that had political influence over the other territories and various trade partnerships with other countries and commonwealths. Wolfram would have no need of riches. On top of that, Wolfram was painfully good looking. He could have had any woman or man that he wanted, so why did he want a lanky, plain-faced, clumsy king with a weird accent?

Yuuri continued to scrutinize his image, trying to see himself from Wolfram's perspective and figure out what drew the rambunctious man to him. Unable to find anything that might attract such a person, Yuuri could only focus on his face reflected in the mirror. Yuuri never realized just how tired he looked. How long had his eyes had those dark circles? When did he get crow's feet? Why were his eyes so dull and lifeless? Why was his face so sickly and pale?

A loud snort from inside the bedroom caused Yuuri to turn his attention towards the sleeping man on his bed. Yuuri watched Wolfram mumble a long string of inaudible sentences before rolling onto his stomach and settling back into sleep.

Returning to his lackluster reflection, Yuuri was about to splash his face again when an odd sound from the room drew him out of the washroom and his self-deprecation.

He ran his fingers through messy longish hair and walked back into the dark bedroom. Yuuri checked to see if Wolfram had made the shuffle-thump noise by falling off the bed again, but Wolfram was still on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, mumbling.

Yuuri shrugged it off and moved to return to bed. He stopped when he heard the noise again, this time he swore he heard crying. It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the bedroom door.

Yuuri slowly approached the door and cautiously placed a hand on the brass handle and turned his ear to pick up on any sound coming from the hall. He could barely pick up the sound of someone crying very quietly.

"Hello?" Yuuri called through the door.

At the sound of his voice, the crying died down and stopped. Yuuri listened harder. Did a child of one of the guests get lost? That was easy enough to do. After three years of residence, Yuuri still got lost in the castle and regularly discovered new passageways and corridors within his home.

The silence caused Yuuri to worry. His concern for the safety of whatever unfortunate being dwelled in the halls won over his hesitance. He slowly turned the handle and opened the heavy door.

The hallway was completely dark. The lamps had been extinguished hours before. Yuuri surmised that it must be three or four in the morning, the lamps were always put out at two on a normal night, unless there was a ball that went late.

'Well, there would have been.' Yuuri thought dryly as he poked his head into the blackness.

"Is anyone there?" He called out again, a little louder. This time he was answered by a soft whimper from his right.

Stepping all the way into the hall, Yuuri turned and saw the faint outline of a small child standing just a few feet down the hall. The child looked to be about five or six years old, and wore a dress. A little girl. Yuuri tried to think of which noble had brought their daughter to the ball. Yuuri snapped his fingers and one of the lamps directly across from him burst into flames. Now Yuuri could see the child better and hopefully recognize who she was and thus find her family.

She was a sickly looking thing. Pale skin, black limpid hair fell around her thin quivering shoulders, head down, hands clasped and resting on her skirt, she looked like she hadn't eaten in while. Yuuri could not make out her face for the curtain of hair that veiled everything but her thin mouth. A soft sob escaped her lips and she grimaced at the floor.

"Hey there, little girl," Yuuri said, trying to sound friendly and calm. "What are you doing out here so late at night?"

A mumble.

"Where are your parents? Are you lost?" Yuuri approached the tiny girl and kneeled so that he was eye level with her. He tilted his head to try and see under those heavy bangs, but it seemed that the girl's face was also hidden under a dark shadow.

"I'm…I'm going to be in trouble…" The girl whispered.

"In trouble for what?" Yuuri asked, brow furrowed in concern.

A violent shudder coursed through her petite frame. "I'm going to be in trouble." She repeated, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "I can't find my ribbons. Mommy got them for me and she said not to lose them or I would be punished."

"Well." Yuuri said gently. "You're not going to find them wandering the halls at night. It's dangerous. Here." He offered his hand to the little girl. "Let me take you back to your mommy and you can look for your ribbons tomorrow."

"No! No!" She cried pitifully, stepping back from the out stretched hand. "I can't! Mommy will be so mad! I can't without my ribbons!"

This time, the girl looked up at Yuuri when she spoke. Yuuri had to try very hard not to gasp when he saw the dark bruise on the girl's round face. It was in the shape of an adult's open palm. She looked at him with large frightened blue eyes.

'What the hell?' He thought.

He suddenly felt angry at the prospect of someone hurting a child in his palace. Determined to protect the small child, Yuuri reached out with both arms to hold the little girl and take her to Gisela to heal the nasty mark. After that, he would find those responsible for hurting her and punish them.

"Come with me. Let me take you to the healer so we can fix that bruise." Yuuri smiled down at the girl, feeling a sense of fatherly protectiveness towards her. He curved his fingers in a beckoning gesture, silently urging her to comply.

The little girl regarded Yuuri's arms suspiciously. Yuuri waited patiently as feelings of apprehension and uncertainty flittered across the girl's huge eyes. She looked at him and then at his welcoming arms. Reaching a decision, she cautiously moved towards Yuuri's embrace, her own arms reaching for his.

"Will you help me?" She whispered, hopeful and desperate. _"Will you save me?"_

Yuuri smiled wider. "Of course. I'll help y-"

"Yuuri!"

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a too familiar sharp voice cut through the silence of the hallway like a hot knife through butter. He whipped his head around to see a sleepy and irritated Wolfram standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing in the hall?" Wolfram demanded, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "It's five in the morning. We have work tomorrow!"

"I-I was helping this little girl find her family." He explained.

"What little girl?"

"This little girl right-" Yuuri turned back to the child, but froze when he saw an empty hall instead. "…..Here?"

Wolfram yawned and scratched his flat stomach. "There's nothing there, wimp. You're having a bad dream. Now come back to bed."

Yuuri stared at the place where just a few seconds ago, the little girl was reaching for him, his arms were even still extended towards where she had stood.

"There…There was a girl here!" He exclaimed whipping his head back and forth, trying to relocate the child in vain. He gestured to the empty space. "A little girl! I heard her crying and I came out and she was right here! I'm serious!"

Wolfram regarded him through half-closed eyes. "Uh-huh, sure." He walked over to where Yuuri was still kneeling and placed his hand across the younger man's forehead.

"You have a fever." He muttered under his breath. "You were probably dreaming and didn't wake up properly."

Yuuri pulled away from Wolfram's touch and stood up. "I'm serious!" He pleaded. "There was a little girl, she was this big." He placed his hand halfway between his knee and hip. "She was in a red dress and she was crying! I could hear her from the washroom!"

"Yuuri." Wolfram scolded tiredly. "There is no one in the hallway. There are no children in this castle except Greta. You're dreaming. I'm exhausted. Now can we go to sleep?"

"But…but!-"

"_Now_, Yuuri!" With that, Wolfram spun around with a sweep of pink frills and disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom. "Bed!" he ordered over his shoulder when Yuuri didn't immediately follow him.

Yuuri gave one last confused glance down the halls. It was true. There was no little girl in a red dress. And yet, the lantern he had lit to view the girl better was still burning as a silent witness to the entire event.

The double black couldn't stop the chill that ran down his spine, he would attribute it to the drafts that blew through the corridors, but really it was from his own discombobulated nerves.

"Yuuri!" Came Wolfram's voice from inside, sounding increasingly angry. "Don't make me come out there and drag you to bed! Or you can stand out there all night, just close the damn door! There's a draft!"

Not really paying attention, Yuuri gave a dismissive "I'm coming, Wolf." His eyes still watched the vacant spot on the floor until his body rotated towards the bedroom and his eyes were forced to follow. Had he been dreaming?

Quietly closing the big doors, Yuuri obediently got back under the covers and attempt to sleep. Wolfram, despite his irritation had already fallen into dreamland and was softly snoring on his side of the bed.

Even though he was very tired, Yuuri tossed and turned for hours. It wasn't until the faint pink line of dawn showed over the horizon that he finally fell asleep, unable to shake the feeling that the little girl in red was still in the hallway, watching him through the crack in the door.

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If there was one feeling that could encompass the awe and beauty of spring in Shin Makoku, it was the feeling of rejuvenation.

Spring was the season of rebirth, of cleansing when the toils and tribulations of winter would demise and give way to new life and new hope.

It was this season, the season of rebirth that was Yuuri's favorite. Winters and summers in Shin Makoku were vicious polar opposites. One was extremely cold and desolate; the other was like walking into an oven while covered in oil. Yuuri liked spring because it was a perfect combination of the two, it was never too hot or too cold and always accompanied by a pleasant breeze off the distant sea that carried the smell of flowers, trees and fresh new earth. The scent of spring.

It was on an unusually hot spring afternoon, that Yuuri found himself in the courtyard having his daily swordsmanship lesson with Conrad. They still called it that though it over the years it went from a lesson to sparring. Yuuri would never be as skilled as Conrad or Wolfram, but he was confident that he could hold his own in a battle.

The gentle wind carried the sound of clashing swords and masculine grunts as Yuuri and his godfather circled, parried and attacked each other. The flowers and the trees made for a dramatic backdrop to their match. This time, Yuuri was practicing offensive fighting while Conrad easily blocked his efforts, occasionally grunting out critiques or praises on Yuuri's skills.

Some distance away, but always where he could watch, Wolfram was training his soldiers. Their blue uniforms rivaled the vibrant cloudless sky above them. The dozen and a half or so fire wielders were paired off, some were sparring with swords at a speed Yuuri could never hope to reach, while others were practicing unarmed combat, punching, kicking and flipping their opponents while Wolfram watched and corrected them with direct cold words.

"Move your feet. Your body has to move with the attack!' Conrad barked, drawing Yuuri's focus to his own practice.

Yuuri gritted his teeth and did as he was told. This particular move had been exceptionally difficult to master, because it involved a very small, but very decisive move towards the end that always seemed to throw Yuuri off no matter what. He would concentrate so much on that one particular part of the maneuver and forget to keep his stance or as Conrad put it, move his feet with the attack, thus throwing him off balance, which in practice was annoying, but in battle it was deadly.

Lunging forward, Yuuri brought up his sword in an upwards swing. When Conrad effortlessly blocked it, Yuuri quickly switched and swung the blade from the opposite direction. When Conrad blocked that, Yuuri tilted the blade and drove it like a spear for Conrad's exposed neck. Conrad immediately jerked his head out of the way just as the tip brushed against the skin of his throat.

"Good job, your Majesty!" Conrad said, smiling proudly. "Now, can you remember to do it just like that without having to be reminded?"

"More or less." Yuuri answered vaguely but regardless, smiled back at Conrad. Standing normally, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and crinkled his nose when he saw how wet it was. "Can we take five? I'm sweating like a pig here."

"Of course, your-"

"Iie!"

"Yuuri." Conrad chuckled. "But remember when in battle your opponent may not be as inclined to allow you a breather."

"Yeah, I know. God, it's hot today!" Yuuri took a long gulp from his canteen and wiped his head again. He removed his black jacket and threw it unceremoniously on a nearby bench. More focused on getting cool than propriety, Yuuri unbuttoned the first three buttons of his undershirt, exposing his tanned skin, shiny from perspiration.

Conrad took a long swig of his own canteen and wiped his sweaty forehead. "Now shall we try a new move, Yuuri?"

The raven man raised an eyebrow. "A new move? What kind?"

"This one is a defensive move, designed to deflect the enemy's attack and possibly disarm him."

Conrad lifted his own sword with both hands, until it hovered over his brunette head. His fingers tightened around the hilt and his shoulders braced. "This is the starting position. It's called the Strength of the Horse. You keep your hands in this position at all times. It does not serve well as an attack stance therefore it's used as defense."

"I thought we were doing offense."

"We are." Conrad assured. "This stance leads into an attack stance, but to get the latter correct, you must learn this one."

Yuuri nodded and obediently mimicked Conrad's form. He wasn't used to holding Morgif so high so his arms shook a little.

"Your Majesty, you're not holding the hilt properly." Conrad sheathed his weapon and swiftly moved to Yuuri's side so his own hands could carefully move the young king into the correct position. "Tighten your grip here." He squeezed Yuuri's closed fists around the hilt better. "And now leave your elbows slightly bent, don't lock them." His hands slid down Yuuri's arms lightly and his fingers rested at the crook of Yuuri's elbows and bent them very slightly. "Shoulders down." Broad hands pressed down on his shoulders and Yuuri was forced to relax his upper body.

Yuuri couldn't stop the blush that so easily colored his cheeks. Lately, he did not like for people to touch him. He suddenly became hyper aware of Conrad's hands on him, moving his limbs like a doll. He would always get nervous when Conrad would touch him like this, bending his form to his will and speaking in a gentle steady voice.

"Um….Conrad?"

"Hm? Square your hips." Conrad instructed absently. His pelvis was suddenly parallel with Yuuri's. He had his hands firmly on Yuuri's slim waist. Yuuri could feel Conrad behind him, could feel his height that was merely a couple of inches taller than he.

"Ah….okay…" Yuuri tried to concentrate.

"Now, spread your legs a little wider." Conrad's hand drifted down Yuuri's hip and slid under his thigh to gently push it outward. Yuuri's face went bright red. His godfather's hands were hot against his inner leg and his breath against his hair sent little tingles down his spine.

"Yuuri! Weller!"

Both men turned in slight horror as Wolfram materialized halfway across the courtyard and stomped towards them, his jaw set, as his soldiers looked on befuddled.

Already seeing the tell-tale signs of jealousy. Yuuri immediately jerked away from Conrad's touch and ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Now, Wolfram, this isn't what it looks like." He tried to give his best disarming smile.

Wolfram stopped a few feet from Yuuri, he cocked his hip to the side, both hands on his hips. "Oh really? And I'm supposed to believe that I did _not_ just see my half-brother inappropriately touching my fiancé?" He glared at the dark young man.

"Oh that…" Yuuri placed his hand behind his head and gave a goofy grin. "Conrad's just showing me a new move. You know-a defense move." He tried to explain as casually as possible.

"That's not what it looked like to me!" Wolfram hissed. "Not what it looked like to my men!"

He jerked a thumb behind him, indicating the soldiers who had stopped their practice when their captain suddenly half-ran towards the king. They all remained straight and stone faced, but attentive as they watched their superior scold their king. They were too far away to see the corners of their mouths twitching as they struggled to not snicker at the royal couple's antics.

"Um….We're just practicing. How am I supposed to know the right stance, if Conrad doesn't show me properly?" Yuuri said unsure, like a child asked to admit what he did wrong.

"I don't recall placing your hands on someone's hips and running your finger along their arms as part of any training I've ever seen!" Wolfram yelled.

"But I see you do it with your rookies all the time!"

"Are you calling me a cheater?"

"No, that's not it!"

Conrad watched as the two young men dissolved into a back and forth spat. In a way, he could understand why Wolfram had gotten upset. Even though it was common to position students into the correct stance by hand, his touch had perhaps lingered a little longer than necessary.

"Wolfram." Conrad interjected, smiling in his calming way cultivated after years of appeasing his little brother. "Would you like to show Yuuri the move? I have to attend to something in a few minutes anyway, so why don't you show him?"

"Conrad, that's not-"

"Of course, I will, wimp!" Wolfram interjected hotly.

"Very well then, I will be leaving..." Conrad smiled and turned away from the couple and smoothly walked back towards the palace.

The young men watched as the soldier disappeared into the halls of the castle. Yuuri slowly turned to regard his still miffed fiancé.

Wolfram glared at his dark partner. "Don't you ever let that happen again."

"Wolfram, Conrad wasn't doing anything." Yuuri said exasperatedly.

Wolfram had to stop himself from smacking his own forehead. Not doing anything? Honestly? Was Yuuri really that oblivious or was he just blatantly ignoring things?

Wolfram gave a hard sigh. "Whatever, let's just get this done."

"Okay." Yuuri said pleasantly, anything to keep Wolfram happy. "Conrad was showing me this; The Strength of the Horse." Yuuri positioned himself as accurately as he could into the stance Conrad had so very carefully put him in.

"No, no! That's not right!" Wolfram rolled his eyes and moved to stand behind him like Conrad. "You put your arms like this."

If Yuuri had thought Conrad's touch was uncomfortable, he had no idea about Wolfram's. Long fingers trailed across his arms and legs and stomach in a way he wasn't quite sure had anything to do with getting the correct stance. But Wolfram's face and voice remained coldly professional as he chided and corrected Yuuri.

"Keep your head up! Your opponent is not on the ground!" Wolfram's smooth hands cupped Yuuri's chin and lifted his face to look straight ahead.

Yuuri obediently did as he was told, silently tolerating Wolfram's fingers trailing down his long neck. But when he looked ahead towards the bushes, he suddenly forgot about the stance.

Up ahead staring right at him, through him, was the little girl from last night, still in her red dress with stringy black hair obscuring her face from view. She was nearly on the opposite side of the courtyard, standing at the entrance to the gardens. The blue soldiers around her didn't seem to notice her presence that overpowered the sunny atmosphere of the day.

Too far way to read her face, but still feeling the piercing cold of her stare. Yuuri's mind went blank and the sound of Wolfram's voice faded into the background out of his comprehension. Yuuri remained frozen, pinned by the obscure gaze of the little child in front of him. He felt both repulsed and drawn to her, drawn to her small helpless face, but repulsed by the dark energy that existed behind her, using her like a lure to pull him towards whatever it may be.

The little girl, still too far away, stared straight ahead at him. Their eyes locked together as the world around them melted away and only they existed. She lifted her hand to him, beckoning him with her small white hand. Yuuri in his mind could see the tiny smile curl across her round face a smile of hope and trust and something dark he couldn't name or resist.

_Will you save me, Yuuri?_

That one whisper came from every direction and moved like a small wind and swirled around Yuuri's still form. The feeling that came over Yuuri was like being hit by a truck as the all too familiar pain ripped open his gut and took over.

Yuuri knew nothing as he fell backward into the surprised arms of his fiancé. He knew nothing as his ears barely picked up Wolfram screaming at his soldiers to get help. He knew nothing but the face of the still smiling little girl as he fell into darkness.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

With eyebrows furrowed in worry, Wolfram gently wiped his dark fiancé's forehead with a cloth soaked in ice water. Yuuri had fainted, overcome by another of those infernal fits. What a silly word to call Yuuri's ailment, a 'fit', like it was some sort of superficial, meaningless problem that only needed a dose of medicine and a nap. Not the kind of problem that reduced a healthy young man into a writhing, feverish heap on a bed. And yet that's what they called it, for they had yet to place a name or a face on the parasitic pain that liked to torment their young king.

It was a repeat of yester-night, Wolfram seated by the bed they shared, holding Yuuri's clammy hand and desperately searching for a way to alleviate his suffering. He was surrounded again by his older brothers, Conrad and Gwendal both called from their posts by a harried page that urged them to see to their king. Gisela had been called, but she had yet to arrive, taking longer than usual, but no one thought to find her and tell her to make haste.

Wolfram saw Conrad shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his vision and he was suddenly reminded of what he had caught his older half-brother doing with his fiancé. He had happened to glance over his shoulder while speaking with one of his subordinates when he caught the sight of his brother practically fondling Yuuri as he maneuvered the king into a defense stance. Wolfram's blood ran hot when he watched that half-breed drag his hands down Yuuri's slim arms. And when his hands drifted to cup a firm thigh…

Wolfram shoved down his agitation with a shudder. As if anyone within thirty feet of them couldn't plainly see that Conrad's actions were more than just platonic instruction. No, Wolfram knew that like he and many others, Conrad was falling under the spell of Yuuri's blossoming beauty. That special beauty gifted to those making the final transition from child to adult.

The three men turned their attention to the door as Gisela pushed her way into the room. They paused when Gisela was followed by a strange old man in long purple robes.

"Your Excellencies." Gisela greeted briskly. She looked at Yuuri's thin form on the bed. "How is he?"

"Not as bad as last time." Conrad answered and everyone could hear the cautious relief in his voice. "But he collapsed outside during his daily training and he seemed to be in pain for a while but now he's just exhausted."

"I see…"Gisela mumbled, she turned her gaze towards her silent companion. "Your Excellencies, this is one of my former teachers from the military academy, Dr. Kristian Marko. He specializes in half-breed health and treatment. I called him because he might be able to tell us what might be ailing his Majesty."

The old gentleman gave a very stiff bow. "Your Excellencies."

Dr. Marko was a very stern looking individual. He wore robes of the deepest shade of purple, the uniform color for medical professors, which covered his boot laden feet. He was thin and as tall as Gwendal, which made him appear emaciated. His features were sharp as blades and his hair was as white as fresh snow and fell in thin locks around his razor cheekbones. His eyes were ice blue slits that peered down at everyone as his thin mouth was set in a bored manner. He blinked owlishly at the men.

"So." Gwendal grunted, hiding the fact that he too was discomforted by the doctor's appearance. "Dr. Marko is it? Tell us more about your training."

"Of course." Marko said slowly. He smiled what was probably meant to be a friendly smile, but to those in the room it just made him look creepier. "I'm currently retired from teaching now, but I taught courses at the military academy on half-human, half-demon hybrid anatomy and health. I've done extensive studies on the few known hybrids that have been able to use demon magic and such."

"Really?" Gwendal said with a raised eyebrow. "And what else?"

Marko straightened up to his full height. "My main interest and specialty is in hybrid physical and mental development. " He spoke in a reedy growl of a voice. "I've done some study in hybrid disease, but that is where my focus lies."

"Can you figure out what's wrong with the king?" Conrad asked, leaning forward intensively.

Marko nodded. "I can try." He moved to stand beside Wolfram who remained seated at Yuuri's side. "Excuse me, your Excellency, but may I examine him?"

For a minute, it looked as if Wolfram wouldn't move from his spot. His grip tightened around Yuuri's hand for an instant before letting go reluctantly. He let his fingers trail across Yuuri's chin and push away a wayward lock of sweaty black hair before switching places with the scarecrow-like doctor, his eyes warily scrutinizing his every move.

Marko kept an indulgent smile as he patiently waited for Wolfram to move. He glided into the still warm stool by the king's side and pushed up his sleeves half way up his emaciated arms revealing sickly blue-veined white skin.

"Your Majesty." He nodded curtly towards Yuuri's body. Yuuri had, as he usually did, remained on the edge of consciousness caught between sleep and awareness of his surroundings. He cracked open one eye cautiously as the doctor gently pushed him onto his back, clearly not worried if he was breaching protocol or not. His only focus was to solve the mystery of Yuuri's waning health.

"Hand me my bag." He gestured towards a small black case that lay next to Gisela's feet.

Gisela quickly grabbed the bag and handed to Marko. Everyone watched in rapt attention as Marko retrieved various instruments and odd looking contraptions and tried them all on Yuuri, too weak to protest or say anything really, with cold efficient precision.

Marko poked, prodded, measured, pressed and squeezed at their king with a level of intrusiveness none of them had seen ever, to the point where they all secretly wanted to tell the creepy old man to back off a bit, but they were too scared and desperate to find out what was happening to their ruler, so much so that personal space violations were the least of their worries.

After what seemed like forever, Marko hovered his bony hands over Yuuri's head and stomach and a glow, yellow not green, emanated from his hands. He sat there completely still, delving none too gently into the natural flow of Yuuri's magic, pushing and shoving any resistance aside with disregard for whatever discomfort he was causing the king, even though Yuuri's body was beginning to visibly twitch and jerk away from the bright yellow glow. Those hands merely followed Yuuri's movement never leaving their position above his stricken form.

Yuuri shrieked so suddenly that it nearly sent Conrad, Gisela, Gwendal and Wolfram through the ceiling. Four pairs of eyes were as big as dinner plates as the king's back arched off the bed as he continued to howl. The only one who did not flinch was Marko, who continued to push the yellow magic through Yuuri's body, blithely ignoring his out burst.

Wolfram was the first to react. "What are you doing?" Wolfram yelled, rushing over to yank Yuuri away from Marko. "You're killing him, you idiot!"

The yellow light finally faded away and Marko sat back smugly in his seat, completely disregarding the commotion of Wolfram pulling Yuuri into his arms, staring daggers at him as Conrad and Gwendal glared with swords half drawn.

"What do you think you are doing?" Conrad demanded. "Speak!" he ordered when Marko merely sat forward languidly in his chair, not at all phased by the dark looks he was receiving.

"There is nothing wrong with his Majesty." Marko stated calmly. The other occupants balked.

"That's complete bullshit and you know it!" Wolfram hissed, clinging even tighter to Yuuri.

"Calm down your Excellency." Marko sniffed. "I speak the truth, there's nothing wrong with him, but there is something going on inside him."

"Are you going to tell us or not?" Wolfram barked.

Marko blinked slowly at Wolfram as if he were an annoying insect perched across from him and not the king's fiancé and one of the most dangerous fire wielders in Shin Makoku.

"How can I explain this in ways that you could understand?" Wolfram didn't miss the condescending emphasis on "you" but before he could respond, Marko continued.

"I'm not completely sure of his condition. But I have a solid feeling that what his Majesty is experiencing is what we healers have come to call a _change_. A transition really. That is to say his Majesty is becoming a perfect hybrid of his two heritages."

Gisela scrunched her features in confusion for a second and then suddenly she remembered from one of Marko's past lectures in medical school. "You don't mean that change?" Gisela asked, eyes bright with concern. "Is that even real?"

"Well, my research has suggested it is more real than not, only very rare."

"What change? What's rare?" Wolfram looked back and forth between the two healers. "Tell us!"

Marko peered at the three brothers. "What I'm trying to say is, King Yuuri, as one of only a few half-human, half-demon offspring who can use magic, is changing into another being. A perfect fusion of his two bloods. They are merging and his body is having trouble keeping up with the transition. That's what is causing his pain. His body is trying to reject the change, but it can't so he feels pain." He explained.

"So…he's becoming a full demon?" Conrad asked.

"No, he will be neither human nor demon" Marko's eyes sparkled, he had never come across a case so _advanced_ as this! "Something else entirely. He will be what scholars have named a Verschmelzung. A complete and total fusion of human and demon blood so perfect, some scholars believe they should be considered an entirely separate species!" Marko grinned like a kid in a free candy store.

"What's a Verschmelzung?" Wolfram asked, staring down at Yuuri's face and trying to imagine him as another species.

A Verschmelzung is a half breed, who due to their unique ability to use magic has gone through what is known as the change. A phase that happens between the eighteenth and twentieth years of age." Marko stated. "It is extremely rare, because most half-breeds can't use magic, but for those who can…" He looked pointedly at Yuuri, who shifted in Wolfram's arms. "The stronger their magic ability, the more likely it is they will go through the change."

"What happens after the change?" This time Gwendal spoke.

"He will be able to control his magic with unbelievable skill and strength. He will be impervious to esoteric stones and in some cases, I have heard of Verschmelzungs using human and demon magic simultaneously." Marko then became somber. "Granted, if he survives the change at all."

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Egad! World's longest chapter or what? I did not think I could write something that long!

Now that we have the set up for the story taken care of, the plot will move much faster, thank god.

Vershmelzung, according to the English to German website I googled, means "fusion" in German. Please do not razz me on accuracy. I don't know a lick of German and I know there are mistakes somewhere.

Are you all enjoying this story? Please let me know. I apologize for not updating my other fictions as often as I should, but college always comes first!

A question for you all; what direction do you think I should take Wolfram and Yuuri's relationship? I was thinking of Yuuri's 'illness' as we will call it… for now… sort of driving a wedge between them because as Yuuri's health and mental state decline, Wolfram withdraws into himself, also add the introduction of a male OC from Wolfram's fire wielders and we got ourselves some DRAMA! Tell me what you guys think and review!

Let me know what you guys think. I look forward to hearing from you! -EB


	3. Chapter 3 The Second Day

Here it is! Chapter three of THYS! I hope you enjoy it! And thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it!

Warnings: Not beta read. I tried to do as much editing and proofreading as possible but I always manage to miss something stupid.

Disclaimer: I don't own KKM, if I did then it'd be more along the lines of Crimson Spell, which I also don't own!

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Chapter Three: It Begins (The Second Day)

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Yuuri tried very, very hard to keep the exasperated sigh from escaping his tight lips. He dutifully held up his arms straight out from his body as the royal tailor, -or one of them- took his measurements with very little regard for his king's comfort. He wrapped the measuring tape around Yuuri's chest, biceps, waist and shoulders and hm-mm'd when the measurement was sufficient and then walked over to a little table and wrote down the inches in a little notebook.

Yuuri carefully shifted his weight to his other foot, having learned that the slightest change in position would throw off the tailor for whatever reason and he would have to measure him again, whether or not he had just taken the measurements.

To help himself ignore the aching in his tired arms and feet that maintained his balance on the stout pedestal, Yuuri occupied himself with admiring the numerous bolts of fabric that lined the tailor's office. There seemed to be every shade, color, pattern and material under the sun that created a bright vibrant wall decoration. Each fabric was meticulously organized by material, color and pattern with shades lined dark to light. Some of the fabrics had the floral and leaf embroidery in gold or silver thread; part of the trade shipment from Svelera. He had seen them brought in on several covered carts a week ago and had to give his royal approval for the cargo. Now they were among the other imports from other countries.

Yuuri's gaze settled on the bolts farthest towards the back of the room. The black section. Commonly accepted as 'his' color and the only color he wore to any state or political event. He was amazed to find that he could choose from a grand total of eight different shades of black with his choice of material and cut. Not that he really cared, he usually left that sort of thing up to Gunter or occasionally, Wolfram, who was obsessed with his appearance lately or even the tailors. All he did was sit there and either approve or disprove their choices. He honestly felt he had better things to do than fuss over clothes. Clothes just made him impatient and antsy and he did not feel like trying on different outfits or standing while people poked him with needles for hours when he could be doing something productive.

Yuuri's vision was blocked by two pictures held by the tailor's assistant in front of his face.

"These are the latest designs, your Majesty." Came the tailor's voice from behind the pictures. "Fresh from Franchire court. The new v-neck design creates a streamlined affect making the chest appear-" It was here that Yuuri tuned him out and only mumbled "yeah" or "really?" as the tailor gave him the life's story of this new style of collar that was the new thing in the human countries.

"Are you kidding me? Do it again!"

The tailor's oh so exciting narrative was interrupted by Wolfram's outburst from across the room. He, like Yuuri, was in the tailor's office getting new measurements and choosing the design for his new uniform.

His wedding uniform.

Despite the fact that Wolfram's closet took up an entire wall in Yuuri's bedroom and had every outfit for every occasion in every color. Wolfram and his mother felt that he needed a new and special outfit made from only the finest materials and in the latest fashion. Translation: The most expensive thing you could think of.

Yuuri looked over at his fiancé. Wolfram was standing, just as Yuuri stood, on a low pedestal so his tailor could measure him. But the tailor was instead cowering from the irritated blonde, clutching his tape and staring at Wolfram as if the man had suddenly grown an extra head.

"What's wrong, Wolf?" Yuuri asked indulgently, knowing that Wolfram's exclamation was more for his attention than anyone else in the room. He had heard Wolfram in the background fussing and ordering the help around and generally being way choosier than Yuuri when it came to clothes.

Wolfram turned an icy glare onto the hapless tailor at his side. "According to this man." Wolfram pointed an accusing finger at the tailor. "My waist is a full two inches bigger than last time!"

"I didn't mean to insult anyone, your Majesty!" The tailor pleaded to his king. "I merely made an observation!"

"Wolfram," Yuuri said comfortingly. "He didn't mean it like that. You're bigger all over. It's called growing."

"My waist is exactly the same as it was since I was younger!"

"How young are we talking?" Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "You're like, eighty-five now, so when did you get measured last?"

"I was seventy-one." Wolfram huffed, his irritation deflating slightly.

Yuuri did some quick calculations in his head. "Then weren't you the equivalent of fourteen? Most people fill out by the time they're seventeen or start to fill out. And you're taller now than you were then. I've gained five pounds of muscle from training with Conrad and I look fine." Yuuri smiled at him assuringly. "You look great, Wolfram. You always do."

A tiny blush spread across the prince's cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes from Yuuri's sweet smile. "Whatever…" he paused. "You don't look too bad yourself."

"Thanks." Yuuri said graciously.

The door to the tailor's office was suddenly, and violently swung open and a mass of blue skirts and bouncy brown curls burst into the room with a hyperactive speed that only belonged to one person.

"Daddies!" Greta squealed. "I'm here for my fitting!"

"Greta!" Wolfram scolded. "Open the door like a sane person! The castle's not on fire is it? You nearly tore off the hinges."

"Sorry." Greta said bashfully. "But I'm just so excited! You guys are finally getting married! I thought this would never happen!" She grabbed her adopted fathers into a tight hug that betrayed her abnormal strength. "I'm just so happy. I don't know what to do with myself!"

"We're so glad you're happy, sweetheart." Yuuri grunted.

Greta let go and both men heaved in relief. She then began to bounce up and down, her freshly curled locks swinging about her grinning face as she proceeded to jump in a circle, near bursting with joy. "Kyah! It's finally happening! I honestly thought I'd be old and dead before you guys did anything, but now my fears are gone!"

Yuuri smiled at his daughter's antics, wondering who let her in the liquor chocolates again. He wished he could borrow some of her energy and pure happiness and use it for himself. At ten years old, Greta had grown into the twinkling star of the castle, taking after her black haired father in that she could make friends with anyone and anything. Her love of adventure made her an inquisitive and enthusiastic personality always ready with an exciting tale to tell over dinner. She was also wicked smart and understood things beyond her years, impressing her tutors and always being a source of endless pride for both her fathers.

"Calm down, Greta!" While Yuuri found Greta's hyperactivity amusing, Wolfram found it improper of the King's daughter. "Act your age!"

"Okay, okay." The little princess immediately calmed herself. "I am calm." But immediately she perked back up. "Is it my turn to get fitted yet? I ended my lessons early so I wouldn't be late."

"Who said you could end your lessons early?" Wolfram asked, eyebrows raised.

Greta flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I was done anyway, so I took the liberty of ending my lessons." When Wolfram stared disapprovingly, Greta added. "The teacher said it was okay."

"But you shouldn't skip you're lessons over clothes." Wolfram chided.

"Aw, let her go, Wolf. It's just for today." Yuuri said, patting Greta affectionately on her head and almost falling off the pedestal in the process. But he deftly caught himself.

"Hmph, fine."

"Is it my turn yet?" Greta looked up at Yuuri hopefully.

"Yeah, sure, I'm done anyway." Not giving the tailor time to say anything contrary, Yuuri hopped off the pedestal and put on his jacket. "Go ahead."

With a cheerful yip, Greta jumped onto the pedestal and dutifully held out her arms for the tailor.

Yuuri crossed his arms and watched as the tailor repeated the same motions from earlier with his little girl. She was growing so fast.

"Say, Greta." Yuuri began. "Why do you need a new outfit? Didn't you just get three new gowns from Grandma Cheri last month?"

"Well, Daddy Yuuri." Greta answered as if speaking to a very slow child. "Those were simple dinner party dresses-"

"They had rubies sewn into the sash." Her father muttered.

"-and they simply won't do for a wedding, especially when it's my dads getting married!" Greta's big brown eyes went sparkly. "And a wedding needs a big, frilly, lacy gown that will knock everyone to their knees in awe of the wonderfulness that is me!"

"Of course."

"I want a purple dress with pink lace and a gold sash and bows on the sides and matching bows for my hair." Greta sternly instructed, half to her parents and half to the tailor.

"Of course, Greta." Wolfram said complaisantly. "Whatever you want."

"Have you guys picked out your clothes?" Greta asked pleasantly.

"I'm wearing black as usual." Yuuri said, he jerked his thumb towards Wolfram. "He hasn't decided yet. And we've been here how many hours now, Wolf?" he teased lightly.

"Unlike you, Yuuri, I don't have a predetermined color or style that suits every occasion." Wolfram sniffed. "There are many things that must be taken into consideration when I'm choosing the materials and colors for my uniform."

"You have that formal one."

"It's hardly appropriate for a royal wedding! I have to incorporate the Bielefeld crest, my personal crest, the proper colors, the right balance of blue and black and design so the medals won't clash with the rest of the outfit! It's very complicated!"

"I see…" The king said dryly.

The family of three turned their heads when a gentle knock came at the door.

"Enter." Yuuri called.

Conrad and his customary smile entered the room and he bowed slightly when he faced Yuuri.

"Your Majesty, Gwendal sent me to escort you to your office to sign some papers he has for you."

"Yippee…." Yuuri droned. "Here I come." He kissed Greta on her forehead and waved goodbye to his fiancé. He followed Conrad out the door and down the hall to the eternal limbo that was signing papers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"When you are done with these, your Majesty, you can get started on these land tenures I pre-approved and sorted for you." Gwendal grunted, as he sat another pile of tree corpses next to the first pile.

"Thanks." Yuuri said flatly. He tried very desperately not to gripe at the endless stacks of paperwork that awaited his limited attention.

Gwendal nodded and left Yuuri's office to tend to his own duties in the adjacent office he used. Yuuri liked the convenience of being separated from his Chief of State by just a small door in between the offices. If Yuuri needed something he could always just walk in and Gwendal could do the same or they could just send a page on their behalf, but Yuuri being Yuuri found it easier to just get up and walk over himself.

Yuuri stared at the pile of documents with upfront disgust. He really didn't get it. He no longer skimped on work, he worked from sun up to sun down in his office dutifully reading and signing each paper with care and efficiency, he had a system that he had created just for signing papers that made the work go by quickly.

So why was there even more to sign now that he was so responsible?

Yuuri sat back in his chair and craned his neck from side to side to get rid of the crick that was burrowing into the base of his skull. He yawned and looked longingly out the window behind him and into the now setting sun. He honestly doubted he would finish up in time for dinner and this would probably spill over into tomorrow and the day after.

The young king inwardly groaned at the prospect. He still hated paperwork with a passion and he hated it all the more when he could not get out of it for anything.

Yuuri looked at the document that still sat before him. It wasn't a document really, not a legal one. It was a formal wedding invitation, one of the hundreds he had been signing since that morning. They needed to be finished by no later than tomorrow morning so they could be sent out with the next expedition by that afternoon. He traced the edges of the parchment. It was the "good" paper, gold designs framed the short note and the paper was almost glossy enough to show his reflection. It smelled nice, not like those cheesy perfumes women use on love notes, but a nice welcoming scent that set the reader's mind for what the note deigned to say.

_To the esteemed Lord von Karbelnikoff_

_You are cordially invited to the royal ceremony to signify the matrimonial union of his Majesty, the 27__th__ Demon King, Yuuri Shibuya and his esteemed Excellency, Wolfram Andreas Erik von Bielefeld on the 16__th__ day of Januar in the 3019__th__ year of King Shinou at-_

"You don't think I'll do it, don't you?"

Yuuri bolted straight up from his hunched position, nearly knocking over the stack of papers to his right.

What was that?

Did he just hear someone speak? It sounded like the person was right in front of him in the room. But there was no one there.

Who would have the audacity to enter the king's office without invitation? How could they have slipped past the guards? The locked door?

He scanned the room for any sign of a second occupant. Did it come from Gwendal's office? But then why was it so clear instead of muffled?

Eyes wide and back crawling with chills, Yuuri strained his ears and eyes for the source of the voice that had hissed those words to him, angry and hateful.

He couldn't stop the shudder from crawling up his spine nor could he get his locked muscles to relax enough for him to move. Even though he could not see he still felt like someone was with him. Watching him.

'My imagination is getting to me. I need to pack up for the night.' Yuuri slowly lowered himself back into his seat, and quickly gathered his papers to set them aside for tomorrow. As he cleaned his workspace, Yuuri took slow and steady breaths to calm his palpitating heart.

"How dare you underestimate me!"

The slow breath Yuuri was trying to take quickly morphed into a hard gasp when the room went cold and the voice returned.

That was not his imagination!

Yuuri stared at his hands, too scared to look up at what could be before him. He watched his hands shake and the sound of the fluttering papers echoed throughout the deadly silent room.

"Don't ignore me! Look at me, you filthy bastard!" the voice snarled.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the muscles in Yuuri's neck disobeyed the frantic commands of his mind and lifted his head to look forward, towards the entrance to his office.

He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to throw the papers down and run, call for Gwendal who was only a few feet from him separated by a small door, or his guards.

His lips moved but his vocal cords did not, the air in his lungs was strangely frozen, his chest hurt, his pupils dilated and his eyelids lifted to allow his wide gaze to see the owner of the voice that commanded him. He could feel the raw loathing that emanated off her like a dark miasma that threatened to consume him and drag him to oblivion.

She stood before him, body tensed, fists clenched, jaw set, eyes staring at him with a cold rage that pinned Yuri where he sat helpless. She was tall, which made her all the more intimidating, she wore a tattered dress that perhaps at one time, had been beautiful, but now it was torn and stained with a substance Yuuri wasn't sure he wanted to figure out.

"You don't think I'll do it do you?" She hissed again. "You don't think I can!"

Yuuri gave a pitiful hiccup. He wanted to say something, tell her she had him confused with someone else. But he couldn't, he could only stare and listen to her threats and feel a tiny smidge of another feeling stir within him. A feeling of the same anger that she had for him or whoever she was talking to. A feeling of offense and justification for whatever wrong she thought had been done to her and the inclination to have her punished.

The woman sneered. "You're such a bastard! You didn't think I'd find out? How stupid do you think I am? I'm not some simpering wench you can just toss aside like nothing! You have no idea what you're toying with!"

She pointed a thin white finger at him. "You wait. You wait and see. Until you do right by me. Everything you touch will turn to disaster!"

"Don't you dare threaten me!" Was that his voice? It sounded strange. "You knew from the beginning what it meant and you still went along with it, so don't you dare come in here, threaten me and my wife because you suddenly don't like something anymore, you get out of my office!"

His lips and voice spoke, but it wasn't him speaking. He could feel the muscles in his face twist and pull with each pronunciation, but his mind wasn't forming the thoughts and commands to form the words that spilled from his lips. That tiny smidge of anger grew within him, but it wasn't his anger, it was someone else's.

The pale woman shrieked. "You-you! I'll kill you!"

She made as if to lunge across the desk for Yuuri's throat, her hands lifted like claws to grasp him. Yuuri tensed and braced himself for her attack.

The adjacent door to Gwendal's office suddenly swung open and the Chief of State sauntered through.

"We've been summoned to dinner. You can finish those-" Gwendal froze when he took in the sight of his king. "Your Majesty?"

The young king was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, still as a statue. His eyes were the size of dinner plates and the color had drained from his face, creating a stark contrast with his black hair and eyes. His hands clasped a bunch of papers so tightly his fingers were white. Every muscle in his body was locked in place as he stared with unbridled fear at the door that led to the main hall.

Gwendal slowly moved closer to the younger man. "Your Majesty?" He reached out a hand to touch Yuuri's shoulder. "Your Majesty!"

Yuuri jerked back in his chair and swore when Gwendal nearly shouted his title. He whipped his head to look at the other man and Gwendal was taken aback by the blank fear that colored the usually laid back man's face.

"Gwendal?" Yuuri breathed shakily.

"Are you alright?" Gwendal leaned forward to look at him directly. "What's wrong?"

Yuuri didn't answer. Instead his eyes darted around the room blankly before settling on the door across from him. Gwendal tried to follow Yuuri's gaze. He scrutinized that very door, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary, except for Yuuri's behavior.

"I thought…." He whispered. "I thought….I…was something there?"

Gwendal eyebrows furrowed. "Was something there?" He echoed looking around the room again, but whatever Yuuri was talking about was no longer in the room. "Did someone come in? Who?"

Yuuri remained silent.

"Yuuri!"

"There was…a woman…standing right there…in front of me." Yuuri whispered.

"A woman?" Gwendal scanned the room again. Nothing. "There's no one in here."

"She was right there!" Yuuri pointed a shaking finger to the now empty spot before him. "She was yelling at me. She was angry. I don't know. She hates me!"

Now Gwendal was really confused. "There's no one in the room. It's just you and me. The door's not even open."

"She was here!" Yuuri looked at Gwendal pleadingly. "I saw her like I see you! She was pale and tall and she wanted me dead!"

"Your Majesty." Gwendal said sternly, grasping Yuuri by both shoulders to force the young man to look at him. "There's no one here. The door is locked. The guards are outside. No one could have gotten in without anyone knowing. You were probably dreaming. Remember what the doctor said?"

"I know what I saw!" Yuuri cried, jerking away from Gwendal.

Gwendal sighed. Marko had warned them of this. "Yuuri." He began, slow and calm. "There's nothing there. You were dreaming. Now, let's go get you something to eat and then you can rest for the evening, alright?"

"She was here!" Yuuri pressed.

"It was all your imagination. You've over-worked yourself. Now, dinner." The older man said gruffly.

"No!" Yuuri exclaimed, still staring at the empty spot. "Take me to my room and get Dr. Marko."

"What about dinner?"

"Go eat without me. Tell them I'm not feeling well." It was true. He really wasn't.

Gwendal stared at Yuuri for a second before complying and he guided Yuuri out of the office like he was a small child. Yuuri half-wanted to pull away from the condescending gesture, but he decided it wasn't worth it. Part of him wanted to believe it was only his imagination coupled with over-exhaustion, but the rational side of him said it was true. She had been there.

And she was still there.

* * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

Gwendal walked out of the room, leaving Yuuri to sit on the divan in front of the fireplace to wait for Dr. Marko. The clock struck six alerting Yuuri that he was late for dinner. He hoped that his absence wouldn't cause too much worry for his retainers, but knowing them, they would worry if he was five minutes late.

Yuuri didn't have to wait long before the soft knock on his bedroom door alerted him to Marko's presence.

"Enter."

Marko glided into the room with his robes swishing about his feet.

"Your Majesty. How may I be of service?"

He paused for a minute, not quite knowing how to ask the very odd question he had. He beckoned with his hand for Marko to sit on the opposite chair and the old man obeyed silently sitting with his hands folded quaintly on his lap.

"I…" Yuuri began hesitantly. "I want you to tell me again about the change. What are the symptoms?"

Marko touched his fingers to his chin. "Well." He said, looking off into the distance. "You will experience muscle pain much like you've been this past few months, loss of appetite, nightmares, disorientation, memory loss-"

"Or death." Yuuri said grimly.

Marko nodded. "It somewhat varies from case to case, it depends on the strength of your magic, I suppose." Marko smiled. "It will be difficult, but I think you have a good chance of coming out of this alive."

"Thanks." Yuuri mumbled.

"You're welcome, your Majesty."

"Go on."

"Ah yes." Marko continued. "The change can occur over a span of a few weeks or a few months, sometimes more than a year. The change is characterized by several symptoms similar to the flu only much worse. Another defining feature of the change is spontaneous loss of control over one's magic. It can be as simple as accidentally shocking yourself or something or it can be very destructive. The point is to avoid using your magic altogether because that increases risk of losing control."

"Okay, anything else?"

"There are mental symptoms as well." Marko explained. "And those can be the most disturbing. Nightmares, and disorientation are the most common, but one can also experience panic attacks, hallucinations-"

"What about….visions?"

Marko tilted his head to one side. "Visions?"

The young king nodded. "Like…" Yuuri sighed. There didn't seem to be a way to explain this without sounding crazy. But there wasn't another way. Yuuri tried to explain as carefully and not crazy as possible.

"Today... In my office... I was getting ready for dinner when I heard a woman speaking to me. At first I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but she spoke again and I saw her. She was standing right in front me as clearly as I see you now. She was saying something like 'you don't think I'll do it!' and I heard her perfectly!"

Marko's brow furrowed and he leaned forward in his seat. "There was no one in the room?"

"No, it was just me." Yuuri said. "And this lady! And then I heard another voice but it was coming from me, but I wasn't speaking at all! It was someone else's voice but it was like me talking. And the lady actually responded to what this voice was saying. It was like being in a dream, like I was watching through someone else's eyes. But it was real!"

"And you are absolutely sure no one had gotten into the room?"

"I'm sure!" Yuuri said vehemently. "Dr. Marko, is this normal? Or is it just too much work? This isn't the first time I've been seeing strange people."

Marko's eyes went wide in shock. "It's not?"

Yuuri shook his head, this was really starting to bother him. "I've been seeing a little girl. She's lost and keeps asking me to help her find stuff, but then I'll look away for a second and then she'll be gone when I look back."

Marko stared at the worried man for a long time. He pursed his lips and looked down at his clasped hands.

Yes. He had never seen a case this advanced before or evolve this quickly. He was both intrigued and disturbed by the rapid progression of the young man's symptoms. He would have to take notes and observe him more closely lest he loose an opportunity for new research.

"Your majesty." He said slowly. "These visions you are having. Seeing people that aren't there-"

"But they are there!"

"To you they are. But in reality, these are illusions caused by your mind's struggle to cope with the change. They are most likely visual representations of your own thoughts and fears and they appear real to you because they are real in your mind."

Yuuri eyes were downcast. His own mind? Could that really be all it was?

"This is very unusual." Marko muttered. "Usually this doesn't happen until the later stages of the change."

"What will happen to me?" Yuuri asked, eyes wide and fearful.

Marko sighed. "I will be honest with you, your Majesty. There is a half and half chance that you will either die from the advanced stages of the change or you will survive but be mentally incapacitated. It is possible but it is very rare that you will come out of this the same person you were before it happened."

A thousand different thoughts tumbled through Yuuri's tired mind as he tried to make sense of what Marko was saying. This was turning out to be more than he had bargained for completely. Would he be strong enough to endure this for months, possibly years?

"I will start you on a new medication." Marko stated, cutting into Yuuri's thoughts. "It's a drug made from several different herbs found in the North. It should keep those hallucinations at bay."

"Yes. That might help." Yuuri said absently.

Marko gave his best reassuring smile. "Do not be frightened, my king. This is only the worst-case scenario, but you may experience milder symptoms from beginning to end."

"Well, at least there's that." Yuuri mumbled grimly.

"Yes, there's that." Marko inclined his head slightly. "If there is nothing else you need, your Majesty. May I be excused to go to my quarters? I can gather the necessary ingredients for the medicine and I can start you on it immediately."

"You may go." Yuuri waved Marko towards the door. "Thanks for your help."

"It is my honor, your Majesty." Marko stood up and made to exit the bedroom.

"Dr. Marko." Yuuri called suddenly.

The old man turned around to face him. "Yes, your Majesty?"

Yuuri paused for a moment. "Do you….know of any other Verschmelzungs in Shin Makoku?"

Marko thought a bit. "I do…" He said cautiously. "He is the son of one of my former colleagues. He went through the change when he was about your age and he survived."

"Where is he now?" Yuuri asked.

"He's living in the von Christ territory last I heard. But I wouldn't bother him. He's a bit….eccentric and not very social."

"Do you think he'd let me talk to him?"

Marko shrugged. "I doubt it." He said. "Even before the change, he was odd. Very serious and quiet. Most Verschmelzungs I know of are recluses and live on the outskirts of society with the other undesirables. I'd let him be if I were you."

"Oh." Yuuri looked disappointed. "I see. Well, I guess that's it. You may go."

Marko bowed stiffly and quickly exited the room, leaving Yuuri alone with his thoughts.

Yuuri wondered if the change could be stopped or delayed any. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go through with this. Sure, it would make using his magic easier and possibly give him the life span of a full demon. The others had seemed relieved even happy that their king would become this new omnipotent being with unrivaled powers.

'They don't want you.'

Yuuri stood up from his seat instantly. Oh god, not again. He turned in circles searching the room for the invisible intruder.

"Go away!" He shouted to the empty air. "You're not real!"

He rushed to the door and threw it open and ran to find Marko and get those damn drugs!

* * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

Yuuri opened the doors to the baths and was enveloped by a wall of steam. That meant the water had just been changed and heated. Perfect.

He set his basket of soaps and washcloths near the edge of the pool-sized tub and hung his towel on a hook nearby. Running a hand through messy black locks, he carefully lowered himself into the steaming hot water, a fine sweat breaking on his forehead as he sighed in relief, letting the water cleanse him. He splashed the hot liquid onto his shoulders, neck and face, causing the sensitive skin the flush bright pink. He slid down further until his entire body up to his neck was submerged and he leaned his tired head back onto the clothed pillow on the edge of the pool. He closed his eyes and willed every muscle and tendon in his body to relax and allow the water to sooth him.

He found himself struggling to stay conscious. That herbal medicine Marko had given him left him woozy and incredibly limp. It was a combination of several different dried plants; some were strong sedatives in their own right and laudanum. Yuuri wasn't sure what it meant in Shin Makoku, but laudanum on Earth was a hard morphine strictly regulated by pharmacies around the globe and people often got addicted to it.

He really hoped he wouldn't develop an addiction, which was the last thing he needed right now. Survive a transformation that could end up killing him only to come out of it a druggie.

Nobody wants a drugged up king. Yuuri made a complete fool of himself on a regular basis on his own, thank you very much.

Yuuri lifted his head off the pillow when the door to the baths creaked open letting out a wave of steam revealing none other than Wolfram, clad in a towel and holding his own basket of soaps and lotions.

Wolfram was completely in the room before he finally noticed Yuuri and stopped. The steam had done an excellent job of obscuring the slim man under the murky water and heavy clouds. The two accidental fiancés stared at each other for what seemed like minutes when really it was only a second or two. This had been happening a lot, Yuuri noted, Wolfram would randomly show up wherever he was about to do the same thing he was going to do and acted like he was surprised to see him there. Yuuri had a sneaking suspicion that Wolfram was intentionally following him. Well, it really wasn't so much suspicion as it was fact and if Wolfram didn't follow him of his own accord, Conrad or Gwendal would send him.

"Sorry." The blonde mumbled. "I thought it was empty. I'll go." He turned to leave but Yuuri stopped him.

"Wait." The raven called. "You can stay here if you want. I don't mind."

"I don't want to disturb you. I know you don't like bathing with others." Wolfram said quietly.

"Well." Yuuri sat up on the bench, smiling. "This time I could use the company." He patted the water in front him like a seat cushion, the tiny splashes echoed across the huge chamber.

"Come on." He coaxed. "It's not like we never bathe together anyway."

Wolfram hesitated for just a moment before he slowly set his basket down on the edge of the pool and carefully sat on the rim and slid gracefully into the water. He kept his towel wrapped around his waist and Yuuri blushed when he remembered that he himself was completely nude under the water. He forced himself to act casual, but he did close his legs a bit to preserve his modesty.

Wolfram sighed as his cheeks flushed pink and he gently splashed the hot water onto his white skin. The pink dusting on his face made his green eyes stand out even more when he slumped further into the water.

They stayed there for a few minutes simply enjoying the water and steam. Occasionally, one of them would break the heavy silence by moving or splashing the water onto their arms and faces. It would get like this sometimes, when they were left alone with each other.

Yuuri wasn't sure if he should start scrubbing or what. For some reason, he was scared to interrupt the thick quiet they had created for themselves. He didn't want to draw attention to himself bathing and then he berated himself for being stupid. It was a bath. They were supposed to scrub.

Tired of the silence, Yuuri thought it best to start off with some light chit-chat.

"How was your day?" He inquired pleasantly.

"It was fine." Wolfram replied evenly. "I got a letter from my uncle today."

"Really? What did he say?"

"He summoned me to Bielefeld."

"Why?"

"It's part of the wedding preparation." Wolfram said. "I'm to go to the land of my father where the "secret" history of my family can be passed down and I may be bestowed the knowledge to keep my family prosperous."

Yuuri nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like a lot."

"It's not that bad. It's just a formality really."

"It's still important. Are you going to go?"

Wolfram shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On how you're feeling." Wolfram said, eyes glinting. "This 'change' is unexpected and I'm not sure my uncle knows anything about this phenomenon." He trailed his hands through the water. "I don't want to leave you in your condition."

Yuuri placed his hand behind his head and then quickly dropped it back into the water. That was a habit he was trying to break. Instead he gave one of his goofy smiles, one habit he didn't bother to break.

"Aw, Wolf, you don't have to worry." He said. "I'm going to be fine. Marko gave me some medicine today that should help things along. You should go and just get it over with. I don't want you to be rushing right when the ceremony comes up."

Wolfram perked up. "You went to see Marko?" His eyebrows stretched to his hairline. "Is that why you missed dinner?"

"I was….having some issues." Yuuri said, not quite sure how much information he should divulge. "I just had a question that I needed answered."

"What did you ask him?"

"Ah, just some stuff about the change and the symptoms."

"Like what?"

"Nothing." Yuuri waved his hand dismissively at the air. "Just….curiosity, I guess."

"Yuuri." Wolfram said seriously. "You don't have to hide things from me. You can talk to me about anything. That's what I'm here for."

"I don't want to bother you."

"Well, it bothers me more when you don't tell me things and it's obvious you're not telling me something. Spill it"

"I…" Yuuri began. "I…may or may not…have seen something in my office." When Wolfram's eyes went wide, Yuuri quickly added. "But I talked to Marko and he gave me this herbal thing that will keep it from happening. Turns out my mind was playing tricks on me. It's common for people going through the change, so there's a medication for it and I shouldn't have anymore problems." He said cheerfully.

Wolfram tilted his head quizzically. "What did you see?"

"Well, I thought I saw a lady. But it was my imagination running away. Too much work and all that stuff, you know?" Yuuri said as casually as possible.

"Oh." Wolfram said, but it was clear he wasn't really satisfied with Yuuri's explanation.

Yuuri decided it was time to change subjects. "So, are you going to Bielefeld or not? How long will you be gone?"

Wolfram tiredly propped his elbow on the edge and rested his head in his hand, eyes closed in thought. "I have to... Eventually. It could be anywhere from two or three weeks, shorter if I have anything to do with it."

"That's not bad. You're patrols are four weeks or more. This is a quick trip, ne?"

"Yeah." The blonde mumbled. "Everything's happening so fast and at once it seems."

"Yeah." Yuuri whispered.

And then there was awkward silence again. Wolfram staring at his reflection and Yuuri at his.

Wolfram had been unusually subdued since the party a couple days ago. Maybe the wedding announcement hadn't sunk in yet. Yuuri found himself wallowing in self-doubt. Had he done the right thing? He honestly thought Wolfram would be happier. Not all emotive like he was now.

His hands were getting wrinkly and he hadn't washed his hair yet, the water was no longer piping hot but soothingly warm. He would have to get out soon, he needed to go to bed and get ready for the next day. Did he finish those invitations? Probably not with the crazy ghost woman in his office screaming at him and all.

"Yuuri."

The young man quickly looked up. "Yes?"

Wolfram, who had appeared to be sleeping with his head in his hand, slowly opened his eyes to stare languidly at his companion. Yuuri was struck by just how tired Wolfram looked, and sad. Like he had all the pressures of this world and the next piled onto his shoulders and nothing to be done about it. The usually put together and stunning prince looked dull and haphazard and ready to collapse at any moment. His blonde hair hung limp around his round face, the steam weighing down the locks into dark ringlets that only added to his exhausted appearance. Yuuri knew Wolfram had been busy these past few weeks, dealing with his new responsibilities as the king's fiancé and now that it was official that they would marry, it had only increased. On top of that, Wolfram was still involved with his squadron of fire wielders full-time. Wolfram had also just admitted a new crop of rookies that would need extra attention and training along with the regular training of his senior men.

"Is this what you want, Yuuri?" Wolfram asked. He didn't look sad and his voice held no accusations or any emotion at all. He was just blank.

"Want what?"

"This." Wolfram sat up and gestured between the two of them. "The wedding. Me as your Consort and second-in-command of the entire country."

Why now?

"Yeah, why not?" Yuuri said as matter-of-factly as possible.

"Because you were forced into this."

"I wasn't forced."

"Then what was that whole thing with Uncle and Gwendal?" Wolfram said, looking slightly annoyed.

"They…" How could he put this lightly? "Gave their opinions strongly and I took it into consideration."

Wolfram was skeptical. "Really? You just up and decided to marry me after years of acting like this engagement didn't exist?"

"I acted like it existed!" Yuuri protested. "I didn't go around telling people you _weren't_ my fiancé anymore did I? I stopped that a long time ago."

"But you didn't tell people I _was _your fiancé either!" Wolfram stated.

"Why? I thought you took care of that part." Yuuri quipped. "Why be repetitive? Everyone in the kingdom knew about the engagement, so why shove it down their throats?"

"It's different when you say it!"

"How so?"

Wolfram gave a hard sigh. Seriously? "When you say it," He said as patiently as possible. "It has more weight to it, because you are the king and because you were the one that proposed."

'_You were the one that proposed.'_ The six words that Yuuri hated the most combined into the one sentence he hated the most.

But he conceded. "Fine, that's reasonable. Didn't I do that at the party and then announce a marriage?"

"_Our_ marriage."

"Yeah."

Wolfram went quiet and his shoulders slumped as he looked away from Yuuri. His lips were pulled tight as he glared at some unseen object that floated above the pool.

"I care about you, Wolfram." Yuuri said pouring every ounce of conviction he could summon. "You are a wonderful person. Everything you've done, you've done for my sake and I can't begin to list all the things you've done for me. I want this to work. I will make it work, for you. I will be a good husband. Give you everything you want or need. I don't know much about being married, but I've seen my parents and they seem to have a pretty good understanding of it, so I can do that. Really, Wolf, I want you to be happy, I want us to be okay."

Wolfram scoffed. "You want me to be happy?"

"Yes."

"You would give me everything I wanted?"

Yuuri nodded vigorously. "Yes."

Wolfram stared at Yuuri bitterly. "You would give me everything you _thought_ I wanted, and _thought _would make me happy. But you won't give me what I _truly _want, what would_ truly_ make me happy."

Yuuri blinked, this wasn't how he pictured it would be.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth.

"It's the best I can give you for now."

Wolfram balked at him and Yuuri was scared that he would start to yell at him or storm away and _why were they having this conversation naked and wet? _ Yuuri stopped the grimace that tried to stretch his lips and he looked ashamed at his reflection again, silently cursing the man that stared back at him forlornly.

But his sullen fiancé slumped back against the pool's edge and went back to looking tired and pitiful, seemingly giving up on the whole situation.

And they were back to the awkward silence.

This was so dumb. This always happened when they were alone. Yuuri was perpetually frustrated with himself every time he was forced to confront the status of his relationship with Wolfram. What was so horribly wrong that Yuuri could not find it in himself to simply _communicate_ with his fiancé?

Yuuri knew he should probably say something. But he didn't know what. And the young king knew from experience the kind of damage saying something you weren't sure of to say could do and how hard it was to fix. But at the same time, not saying anything was just as bad and try as he might, Yuuri could not think of anything to say. It was there, he felt it, he just didn't know how to convert it to words and sentences and he was left to hang dry by his own mind.

"Yuuri." Wolfram's soft voice cut through the silence.

"Yes?" Yuuri answered eager to be rid of the tense situation.

The blonde demon paused for a moment. "Can I... Can I wash your hair?"

Yuuri blinked. That was…odd. And sudden. And completely off-track from where they were in the conversation.

Yuuri stiffened a bit. Again with the touching. He wasn't keen on being so close to Wolfram and certainly not while naked in a tub! He eyed the older man suspiciously, his mind replaying the incident in the courtyard where Wolfram and his godfather had gotten a little too frisky with the positioning thing. What would happen now that he didn't have layers of clothes to protect him?

But, deciding to go for light-heartedness to dissipate the tense mood, Yuuri quirked his head to the side. "What is it with you and my hair?" He said lightly. "You'd think that my hair was constantly under threat of split ends and dehydration unless you are here to wash it. Lord knows my arms are too weak and frail to reach up and scrub my own head!" He teased, trying to get a smile or something from the blonde.

All he got was a 'hmph' and Wolfram shifted in his spot. "They are." He said. "I'm surprised you can hold a fork with those things."

Yuuri smirked, happy that Wolfram was playing along with his spoof. "You're right." He said looking at his arms in mock-criticism. "I can't lift a five fluid ounce bottle without proper assistance! My wrist will pop right off and then where'd we be? In bloody water that's what."

The corners of Wolfram's mouth twitched and his eyes regained a tiny spark of light.

Taking it as encouragement, Yuuri continued his rant. "Then we'd have to dive under the water and fish it out with fishing poles and Gisela would have to sew it back on and she won't do a good job because she never learned how to sew and Gwendal would have to do it but it would look ugly cause now I have two sets of stitches and one's crooked and then the tailor would be upset 'cause Gwendal used pink thread and he'd have to change the entire color scheme of my wedding outfit to match the stitches."

Aha! Wolfram was actually smiling. It was weak, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"We'd have to dive for your arm and use a fishing pole?" He said dryly.

"Yes." Yuuri was completely serious. "That's the seriousness of the whole situation. Not only is the arm under water, it is _so_ under water that it needs to be fished out and retrieved via diving to get it out. Then that would lead to a whole other situation where the hook will get caught in someone's cheek and it'd have to be removed and all that mess."

The smile grew a little stronger as Wolfram stared at Yuuri, no doubt imagining the ludicrous scenario that the double black painted for him. Yuuri noted, with some surprise that there were only two people in the world that could make Wolfram smile; he and their daughter. He had never heard Wolfram laugh or giggle or show any form of outward happiness. He wondered if the demon had a sense of humor. He was always so serious, always so withdrawn and melancholy and stern. When he wasn't yelling.

"And when all this is happening." Yuuri continued with gusto. "Dai Shimaron will declare war in a desperate plea for attention!"

There it was! A genuine –tiny- smile from the Prince of Eternal Consternation.

"And all because you weren't around to wash my hair for me. Shame on you, Wolfram."

"Why should I be ashamed? Nothing's happened yet." Wolfram smirked.

Yuuri reached over his shoulder and retrieved the bottle of shampoo from his basket. "Keep it that way." He offered the bottle to Wolfram with a smile that could melt ice. "We must protect the country from Dai Shimaron's insecurity."

"Very well." The blonde said, but the tiny smile had faded a bit, he reached for the bottle and gently lifted it from Yuuri's fingers.

Yuuri in turn, dutifully moved from his perch at the opposite end of the pool to be within Wolfram's reach. He smoothly turned his back and lowered himself into the water so he wouldn't be too tall for the slightly shorter man's arms.

Yuuri closed his eyes and forced himself to relax into the feeling of Wolfram's thin fingers massaging his scalp and lathering up the shampoo. He didn't miss the slight hesitation before Wolfram placed his hands atop Yuuri's black head and the slight pause before the fingers finally began to move in small circles.

Yuuri kept his expression pleasant, but inside he was somber. This was how it was with them. They would start to talk about their feelings only to give each other vague responses before they would dissolve into that awkward silence, where neither really knew how to reach out to the other or in this case, change the subject and act like it didn't happen. Wolfram would ask Yuuri a question or make some comment about their feelings, other people's feelings, other people's relationships even, his pride, his reputation whatever surface issue that lay atop the deeper paradox that was their seemingly indescribable relationship. They weren't friends, but they weren't lovers either. They were something in between that neither of the two men, one with his open-minded optimism and other with his years of experience that left him jaded, could really begin to understand much less define in a way that would suit the complexity that was their feelings. They were in too deep, and yet they weren't deep enough to share their feelings openly or effectively.

Yuuri knew that they just didn't beat around the bush, they beat over and around it until they were so tired they changed the subject or Yuuri would make some nonsensical tangent that Wolfram would allow to distract him or really it didn't. But Wolfram was tired, always tired, and he didn't have the energy to bring Yuuri back into focus or himself for that matter. They would drop the subject and move on as if nothing happened and they would go back to dancing and beating around that bush from dawn to dusk, pretending everything was perfectly fine until they would do it again and again and repeat the cycle for eternity.

But they weren't fine. It wasn't right, but it was easier. Yuuri and Wolfram would keep up the image of the perfect royal couple, following duty and protocol like well oiled machines, smiling and socializing and acknowledging. It was easier to pretend and feign ignorance than face the truth. Yuuri knew it was immature, and maybe even cowardly, but it was _easier._

Yuuri wondered if he was giving Wolfram mixed signals by letting him wash his hair like this, when they were indisposed. But Wolfram had asked and Yuuri had submitted and didn't he just say he would give him everything he wanted? Even the little things like washing hair.

Yuuri swore to himself that he would do everything he could to be a good husband to Wolfram. He would do everything a husband was supposed to do. Remember birthdays and anniversaries. Go on family vacations and outings regularly. He would complete his kingly duties in time so he would be able to devote his free moments to their family. He would acknowledge Wolfram's status in public and often, he would even be physically intimate with him and he wouldn't complain once.

Now the problem was; how long could he keep it up?

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Phew! There you have it! Chapter three of THYS. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, I always enjoy hearing from you, your feedback and encouragement give me energy and inspiration to keep at it and complete this obviously very long story.

The final scene with Wolfram and Yuuri was very difficult to write. I wanted to give a taste of how their relationship has or has not progressed. Even now I feel like I didn't quite get it right. I think this is one of those situations were what _isn't_ said says more than what _was_ said.

I always felt that Yuuri and Wolfram could not go on with their bickering and jealousy fits forever like they do in the anime. I felt that after a time, they would reach this sort of stalemate with their relationship, especially if Yuuri is having trouble understanding his own feelings.

Yuuri in this situation and in the anime, is a victim of his own kindness. He doesn't want anyone to be mad, he doesn't want to fight, he wants everyone to be happy so he does what he thinks will keep everyone happy. But we know what happens when we try to make everyone happy, don't we? His fear of conflict gets in the way of actually working out his feelings.

At least that's my interpretation. Feel free to talk and debate your own take as much as you want, I'm very curious to see what everyone thinks of how Yuuri is handling the situation.

Please don't forget to leave a review, they are very important to me!

P.S. Are the chapters too long for you guys? I try to keep them between 7000 and 10,000 words each. There's a lot to cover. I personally like long chapters when I read fanfiction, it gives me more to think about.

Love you guys! -EB


	4. Chapter 4 The Fourth Day

Here we go! Chapter numero Quattro!

This chapter begins the actual possession/haunting. Also, the story will start to deviate from Yuuri's POV as he falls deeper into psychosis in some places, possibly for whole chapters.

Thanks to all who reviewed, I always look forward to hearing from you. Your encouragement and suggestions help me become a better writer, which is my ultimate goal as I begin to write original stories not just fan fiction.

Warnings: Violence, not beta-read.

Disclaimer: I do not own it.

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Chapter Four: Taken (The Fourth Day)

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The sudden, hated and familiar pain was a rude awakening for Yuuri. A hard gasp tore through his throat and his back arched off the bed as every muscle in his body convulsed and strained under the attack. It came so suddenly that he opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came forward.

The young man rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, his harsh breathing cut through the dead quiet of the night. Tears rolling down his hot cheeks, Yuuri weakly reached behind him to wake his sleeping companion. His fingers grasped pitifully at the space behind him, but he froze when he felt nothing but empty cold sheets.

Yuuri craned his neck to look over his shoulder, desperately seeking the other man for help. But this movement brought on another wave of pain that left him unable to think, let alone call for aid.

Pushing past his agony, Yuuri weakly called into the darkness of the bedroom, hoping Wolfram had gotten up to go to the washroom.

"W-Wolf….ram." He rasped. "Wolf….Wolf!"

Nothing. Only the sound of his grating voice echoed through the room. Using all his might, he pushed himself to his other side to look into the room.

He was alone.

It came as a whisper, so quiet Yuuri's ears barely picked up on the voice that came from the dark.

"Wolfram? Is it you?"

The whisper came again, from behind him. Then again from above him. Again still, from the washroom.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri called, the pain snaked around his stomach and his limbs, and fear began to grow within him.

"This isn't funny, Wolfram. Please, get Gisela." Yuuri said, almost begging.

The whisper was joined by more whispers. They gathered together in a quiet chorus of sounds and voices. Loud enough to heard, but too quiet to understand. They spoke over each other and together as one, floating above Yuuri's prone form and swirling about the empty room.

Black eyes darted frantically around the dark space as the whispers grew in number but remained ambiguous of their meaning. Yuuri lay frozen, his pain was almost completely overshadowed by the numbing fear that was quickly taking over.

Then just as suddenly as they came, they stopped. The pain stopped. He was mobile again. Confused and scared, Yuuri willed his courage and slowly sat up in bed. It was quiet, too quiet, it was nearly as unnerving as the noise of the whispers.

Where the hell was Wolfram?

Even if it was quiet now, even if there was nothing in the room but him and the furniture, Yuuri still felt threatened in the darkness. He had that feeling one gets when the room is crowded with people who are staring at you and ignoring you, but he saw no one, but he felt them.

Yuuri gradually got out of bed to look for his absent companion. He grabbed a robe and walked over to the washroom. He was waking from a bad dream is all, maybe some water would help.

He stopped and his blood ran cold when he made out the dark gray silhouette of someone standing in the washroom, the door swung wide open. The figure was not moving, only standing head bowed facing the mirror. Yuuri couldn't make out his profile, but it appeared to be male, bald and emaciated with white sickly skin.

Yuuri could feel his heart pounding against his ribs almost breaking the bone. His mind went blank, unable to explain the presence of the intruder or the nauseating dread that boiled within him.

The room was freezing so that Yuuri could see his breath make little clouds in the air. But the figure in the washroom did not make little clouds, he didn't even seem to be breathing for that matter, he was completely lifeless like a statue, just standing and staring at the floor.

What should he do? Should he call for help? Certainly, if someone had broken into his bedroom then it was a serious emergency. But the room showed no signs of intrusion, the windows were still closed and locked as they were when he went to sleep earlier that evening.

Yuuri looked at the door to his room. It was closed, probably locked. That thing couldn't have gotten in from there.

He unwillingly returned his gaze to the white figure and he immediately regretted taking his eyes off the person. The figure was now staring out of the washroom, white pupil-less eyes looking straight out from the void of the washroom.

And right at Yuuri.

His mind was screaming at him. Urging his body to run, flee, fight, something! But his legs were like lead and bolted to the floor by his terror.

A frightened moan escaped through his lips when the geist lifted stick-like arms and extended bony claw-like fingers to him, reaching for him.

His entire body shook when thin feet propelled the figure forward, lurching, encroaching on to his frozen form. It moved so slowly, as if in a trance, toes dragging across the wooden floor creating a long scratching noise that echoed through the room.

Fingers curled, it advanced on the frightened young man. Every signal, command and order his frantic mind sent to his various body parts was lost in the crippling terror that held him fast and at the mercy of the wraith that drew ever nearer, eyes glistening in the pale moonlight.

Just as its fingers brushed against Yuuri's shoulders, his legs finally responded to the demands of his mind and he fled from the room. He crashed into the door and his hands barely turned the handle in time for his body to shove around the barely open door and flee into the dark hallway.

He had run so hard that he hit the opposite wall. He didn't dare look back into the room, lest the wraith was still in pursuit.

He stumbled then ran down the hallway, searching for someone, anyone, to help him. The hall went on forever into a black abyss and Yuuri desperately tried to remember the layout of the castle through the haze of panic that overwhelmed him. Breath heaving, he tore his way down the hall, but was stopped when something cold gripped his hand and nearly made him fall with the sudden force of his halt.

Yuuri desperately tried to yank his hand from the cold grip, he cried out in frustration when his hand didn't budge and the grip tightened painfully around his hand. He gave a sob as he forced himself to look down at his trapped arm.

Looking up at him, black holes where her eyes should be, was the little girl, smiling up at him pleasantly.

"Hey, mister," she said with macabre glee. "Will you help me find my ribbons?"

"No!" He shouted. "Let me go!"

He ripped his hand from her and continued running down the hall, towards Conrad's room, her bell-like laughter mocked him.

Something tripped him, he didn't know, it might have been the hem of his robe, it might have been his own clumsiness, it might have been a hand. He hit the floor hard and tasted blood on his lip and they were on him. Cold fingers probing, grabbing and clawing at his clothes and his hair and skin, ripping, tearing, shredding. Divesting him of the scant protection of his garments and exposing warm flesh to the cold night.

Yuuri fought with everything he had, he screamed and kicked and punched, but his arms and legs met thin air, but the fingers held fast, pinning him to the marble floor.

Out of his peripheral vision, Yuuri saw a dark shadow standing some ways down the hall from were he lay under siege. It was shrouded in a black cloak that absorbed what little light there was, watching him.

He couldn't take his eyes off the figure. This thing wasn't like the others that harassed him. It only stood there, calm and dark and _menacing_.

He was crying fully now, tears mixed with the scratches on his cheeks and made them sting. The hands were still on him, now they were trying to take his own body apart, now that his clothes hung in shreds about him.

The shadow moved towards him, creeping silently across the hall to him. A black void in the shape of a man that had no face, but he could feel the icy cruelty that hung around it like a shroud.

It knelt behind his head and with its body, it covered him completely. The hands recoiled from the shadow and disappeared as quickly as they came. Yuuri choked on another sob as the shadow slowly overtook him.

His vision was covered in black, Yuuri couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't _think_. He could only lay and hope that someone would come soon.

He felt as if he was being crushed under a stone slab, his entire body was pressed down hard and the unyielding floor created painful pressure points all over his form.

It pressed down on him, harder and harder until his bones and muscles were straining against the floor and the shadow. Something would have to give, soon.

He tried half-heartedly to move his arms and shove the thing off him, but his arms were pinned and he could no longer feel his legs. All he felt was fear and pain.

Something pried his mouth open and was shoving its way inside him. Yuuri had never felt agony as intense as this, none of the fits or episodes he had experienced up until this moment could not compare with the terrible suffering he endured now. The shadow tore and crawled its way into his body and into his mind, tearing at his magic and merging with it, raping it, taking over everything, erasing everything that was Yuuri. His body jerked and writhed at the force of entry and as a pitiful attempt to rid itself of the intruder.

This was it, he was going to die. Yuuri had hoped for more time, a better chance at survival, but such would not be, he would die right here in the hall, alone and scared and pathetic as this thing did as it pleased.

He was going to die! He was going to die!

A strangled scream pushed past his lips as the shadow continued to violate him in the most horrific way possible. He could feel it pulsing through his veins, mixing with his life force, reading his thoughts and memories with no care for how much pain it caused him to be forced to relive every moment of his life within seconds.

The images flashed, he heard words being spoken, by friends, family and strangers on the sidewalk. The time of his birth to this very moment, he lived and saw all of it and he despaired, because the shadow sought his weaknesses with deadly accuracy, picking apart the things that would render him useless.

'Wolfram! Conrad! Shouri!...Mom! Dad!' his silent pleas echoed against his skull as large hands trailed down his body, leaving long red welts in their wake. He was cold and lifeless, his fate was sealed.

The shadow disappeared inside him. Yuuri twitched. He could move again.

Legs shaking like a newborn, he struggled to stand and run away as fast as he could. The hall was silent now, completely still as if nothing had happened.

He could still feel it! In him! His hands clawed at his stomach ready to tear open the skin and manually drag that thing out of him.

He staggered down the hall. Instincts drove him that way, to his godfather's quarters.

He was so bent on escape, so consumed by fear that he missed the first step, he didn't have time to yell when his body collided with the stone steps and sent him tumbling to the bottom.

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It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when someone finally found his crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs. One of the washerwomen found him, off to collect last night's laundry, basket in hand. She alerted the rest of the castle to his presence with a shriek that carried across the entire first floor, thanks to the great acoustics of the stone hallways.

Yozak was the first to get there. He and Conrad had been drinking and playing cards into the wee hours of the morning until the blood-curdling shriek halted their game.

He was losing anyway.

Yozak rushed towards the top of the stairs where the scream came from, Conrad following close behind, swords in hand.

What he saw at the bottom of the stairs made his blood run cold. The young master was lying, limbs askew at awkward angles, a maid babbling hysterically of how she came to find him there, small, almost imperceptible red stains were smeared across the steps and in a spot some ways down the hall. The young master wasn't moving.

Yozak saw a tan blur rush past him and Conrad appeared at the young king's side, fingers pressed to his neck, checking for some sign of life.

Yozak turned to a maid that happened to come down the hall. "Get a healer!" He barked and quickly joined Conrad at Yuuri's side.

He looked even worse up close. Bruises, cuts, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. His clothes hung in shreds off his pale body, revealing angry scratches on his sides and stomach.

Yozak, in all his years at the captain's side, which measured in the decades, had never seen his friend so distraught. While he remained calm on the outside, Conrad visibly shook, barely holding back his panic when he vainly tried to wake Yuuri, only to have the boy shake limply like a toy.

"Yuuri! Yuuri!" Conrad shouted frantically. He rotated the young man's body onto his back and they were both surprised to find that Yuuri's eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling, glazed and bloodshot.

"Yuuri?" Conrad patted Yuuri's clammy cheek. Nothing.

"Kiddo?" Yozak tried, he examined the boy's condition. "We need to get him to the infirmary or off the floor at least."

Conrad began trailing his hands along Yuuri arms and torso. "Check him for broken bones."

Yozak immediately went to work, quickly prodding and rotating Yuuri's legs, checking for abnormal movements, breaks in the smooth lines of his bones.

"He's bruised." Yozak stated. "But I don't think anything's broken."

"His ribs are cracked and he might have a concussion." Conrad said, he took off his jacket and wrapped it gently around Yuuri's head, created a makeshift pillow and brace. "We can't move him without a stretcher."

Yozak nodded and moved to help Conrad arrange Yuuri's limbs into more comfortable position.

The second their hands simultaneously grasped at Yuuri's arms and legs, the younger man let out a horrified scream and thrashed violently, punching Yozak in the chin and backhanding Conrad.

Yuuri continued screaming as he kicked and clawed and jerked away from their outstretched hands. He tried to get up but his concussion caused him to collapse against the floor. He stared at them with terrified eyes, face white and drawn.

He stayed still like a hunted animal backed into a corner, glaring at the two men as if they would tear him apart any second.

"Yuuri?" Conrad said carefully though shocked at the sudden outburst. "It's just me and Yozak. We're not going to hurt you."

The captain tried to reach for Yuuri's arm, but the second his fingers brushed against the cloth of his tattered nightshirt, Yuuri broke into hysterics and tried to stand again only to fall, this time much harder against the stone floor.

"Grab him!" Conrad ordered and leapt forward to catch Yuuri's ankle before he could try to run again.

This only made Yuuri scream louder and he turned on Conrad, yelling curses and striking everything within his reach. Conrad fought in vain to protect himself from Yuuri's wild blows, imploring Yuuri to calm down and stop him from escaping by holding on to his legs.

With lightening speed, Yozak came to his captain's aid by circling behind Yuuri and grabbing him into a hug and deftly caught the demon king's wrists in his iron grip.

"Kiddo!" He grunted when Yuuri's elbow collided with his stomach. "Just relax! It's us!"

Yuuri went limp in Yozak's grip but continued to sob and babble as he hung in their arms. His tears smeared across his face and made the dried blood on his cheeks run, creating a disturbing image that made it appear as if he cried the red liquid.

Despite his years of battle, blood still made Yozak cringe. "Where the hell is that healer!" he hissed.

"I'm here!" called a masculine voice from the top of the stairs. It was one of the assistant healers, followed by two more carrying a stretcher between them. "What happened?"

"His Majesty is injured! We need to get him to the infirmary!" Conrad shouted.

It took them quite some effort to get Yuuri on the stretcher amid the gasps of the medical attendants when they saw the damage up close. The double black found a last spark of energy within him and renewed his efforts to knock off anyone who tried to touch him, wailing the whole time. They fastened Yuuri's ankles and wrists with the bands attached to the frame, which just pissed Yuuri off more. They finally got him situated and they carried him away.

Yozak followed behind them, Conrad was expertly keeping up with the pace set by the attendants, walking close to Yuuri's head, which continually shook from side to side, babbling in that weird foreign tongue, the spy had only heard twice in his time with the young king. Conrad would answer back without a hitch, apparently able to decipher the –to Yozak- clipped, choppy syllables that came from the young man. Conrad's words were spoken in a soothing tone and even though he couldn't understand a word, they even managed to make Yozak calm.

They shared a single glance that asked one question.

What the hell just happened?

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Yozak and Conrad burst through the doors of the infirmary, making way for the precious bundle that succeeded them. The room was brightly lit, a bed was already set and waiting for its occupant. A table with various equipment and bottles was next to the bed at the ready.

Gisela, Wolfram and Gunter met them with wide worried eyes. Gwendal stood to the side, taking it upon himself to be the official Calm One. Standing next to him was the infamous Dr. Marko. Well, infamous to Yozak, who had heard only non-flattering descriptions from Conrad that caused the spy to have an opinion so negative, that he regarded the doctor with the same look of disdain that colored the captain's face, even though he had never met the guy. Conrad's testimony was enough.

"Where did you find him!" The lord brat demanded, cutting off Gisela's inquiry before she could even form the words.

"Bottom of the stairs." Conrad said as he helped place the catatonic Yuuri onto the bed.

"What happened?" Gisela asked, moving quickly to treat Yuuri's injuries.

"We don't know." Yozak answered. "He was found like this by a maid. We think he might have been attacked."

"Where were you?" Conrad was glaring at his younger brother. "There's no way you couldn't have seen this happen!"

Wolfram was affronted. "What do you mean?" He shouted. "All I did was step out for a moment and when I came back he was gone! I've been looking for him since!"

Yozak looked up from where he stood at the young master's side. Wolfram was a mess. The demon's clothes were crumpled, thrown on hastily in his search for his fiancé, his hair was wild in places and flattened in others, indicating that he had run his fingers through the strands several times in frustration and feebly attempted to neaten them only to mess them up again.

His turned his attention back to the young king when the room was filled with gasps as Gisela removed Yuuri's shirt, or what was left of it and the full extent of the damage was revealed. It was even worse than before- long angry cuts trailed down Yuuri's torso, little fibers from the cloth sticking to dried blood. Where there wasn't a cut there was a bruise ranging in color from purple to an odd yellowish shade. But that wasn't what caught their attention.

The bruises were shaped vaguely like handprints.

Gisela worked quickly, snatching up balls of cotton and dipping them in a cleaning solution and dabbing them across the agitated welts. She was silent as she analyzed each and every mark trying to come up with some plausible explanation as to how his Majesty ended up this way and why.

The others stood around her watching. Their only source of usefulness was to remain as far out of the way as possible while being on hand for anything she could need. They all bore the same look of apprehension and anger at what had befallen the king. Gunter was biting his fingers and mumbling anxiously to Gwendal, who remained silently dedicated to his role and Wolfram added shame to his expression.

Marko broke the silence, turning to Wolfram. "What happened last night?"

Wolfram's posture was defensive when everyone gave him a hard look. "I told you!" He said. "I stepped out for some air, I was only gone for a minute - he was sound asleep. I-I came back and he was gone. I looked everywhere for him but he was nowhere. I didn't know he would go towards the west wing. He never goes that way!"

Gunter sneered, his fear for his beloved majesty demanded he take it out on some one. "That's no excuse!" He hissed. "You are just as much his bodyguard as you are his fiancé! The only reason we let you share a room is because you have taken it upon yourself to protect him while he sleeps! Your need to 'step out' left him vulnerable and now look!" He thrust a finger towards where the king lay.

"I checked everything before I left!" Wolfram protested. "The door was locked and the windows too! There was a guard posted outside. I don't know where he went! It was only a minute!"

"But you should-" Gunter started.

But Gwendal stopped him. "Hush!" He barked. "We'll figure it out later."

The two looked abashed. "Very well." Gunter muttered.

Yozak felt a little sorry for the demon prince. It was obvious he was one of the most panicked of them all. He knew that as annoying as he was, Wolfram was never careless when it came to the young master. He didn't think it was right for Gunter to turn on him like that when the kid was probably already feeling guilty enough as it is.

Yozak heard a gasp from Gisela and turned to see the healer staring at her hands as if they had suddenly changed color and grown a sixth digit.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Gisela's words made everyone's jaws drop. "He's not responding to the magic. I might as well be just holding my hands above his head for all the good it's doing." She shook her hands in a weak attempt to somehow jumpstart her magic.

The look on Conrad's face was something Yozak had never seen before. "He's what?" the captain said flatly.

Gisela was completely lost. "It's not working, he's not responding at all!"

Marko finally decided to grace them with his reedy voice. "Let me try." He said moving from behind Gwendal to sit next to Gisela.

He tried the same thing but with his weird yellow magic, but the results were the same, the cuts and bruises remained unabashed by the dogged efforts of the two healers.

"This is…odd." Marko mumbled.

"What's _wrong_ with him?" Wolfram implored.

Marko sat up with a sigh. "It's another symptom." He said and they could all hear the silent "oh well" at the end.

"What do you mean?"

"This is quite common of changing half-breeds." He said, tilting his head in Yuuri's direction for emphasis. "He more than likely had a nightmare and managed to escape from his room. He just needs a sedative. Was he on any medication when he escaped from his room?"

Wolfram spoke up. "I saw him take the narcotic Gisela gave him…"

"A-ha!" Marko said with a smile. "She told me about that. It causes nightmares, does it not?"

Gisela finished patching up Yuuri's wounds. "Um…yes," she said, "among other things."

"Then he obviously had a nightmare and sleep walked."

Yozak was skeptical. It couldn't be that simple. "What about the scratches?"

Marko just shrugged, "Self-injury is common when the patient loses his connection with reality. He also attacked you didn't he? Judging by that bruise on your cheek."

Yozak touched his left cheek. Sure enough the flesh was tender and felt slightly swollen. Yuuri had landed a particularly solid punch when Yozak tried to lift him onto the stretcher.

"It looks horrid." Marko continued. "But I must warn you all that this is common and will happen again. My suggestion is that you lock his room from the outside and give a trusted person the key. I suggest his Excellency Bielefeld, since he's _so close_ with his Majesty."

Everyone heard the emphasis on "so close"; Marko seemed to pick on Wolfram for some reason.

Wolfram took the bait. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounded like." Marko said with a sidelong glance.

Thankfully, Gisela interrupted before something could escalate. "How do we stop this from happening, Professor Marko?"

"You can't." He said simply. "The only thing we can do is treat the symptoms with the best medicine available, but there will always be incidents."

Gisela visibly slumped in defeat. "I guess that's the only option at this point. If he's not responding to magic healing then I don't know what else can be done."

Marko casually pulled out his pocket watch. "If he took it before going to bed." He said, looking at the little hands tick by. "Then he's due for another dose anyway. If you'll excuse me, I'll go get the medicine."

Not waiting for anyone's permission, Marko got up and floated out of the room and gently clicked the door behind him.

Everyone stared at the closed door for a minute.

Yozak, always one for being the first to point out things said. "You know, he gives me the creeps."

"He gives everyone the creeps." Gisela muttered. "Just ask the graduating class of 2089."

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Yuuri decided from now on, he hated infirmaries. He hated waking up to a white mass in front of his eyes. He hated the bare, sterile environment with its shiny steel carts and equipment and blindingly white walls that collectively stated; "Don't put your greasy hands on anything cause we'll know it!"

He hated infirmaries, especially Blood Pledge Castle's infirmary, for the sole reason that lately it didn't matter where he fell asleep –his room, the library, the parlor, his office- he always woke up on his back, dressed down to his boxers and undershirt, the smell of cleaning solution, bandages, and old people assaulting his nose, in a flat hard bed.

He was sick of looking at them.

He got up with a groan and rubbed his face tiredly. He got out of the bed and walked over to one of the freshly polished mirrors on the walls, side-stepping the medical supplies strewn about.

'What happened last night?' he thought as he leaned forward to examine his face. He touched his fingers to a bruise on his cheek. 'What in the world?'

In a flash, the events from last night poured into Yuuri's vision, playing across his mind like a movie projector. The fear, the hands, the screams, and the shadow, it all rushed by him and his gut ached with the memory of the sheer terror he had endured.

He remembered the nails clawing down his body and he saw the physical testament of their torment in the mirror. They had obviously been bandaged and dressed by someone, more than likely Gisela.

Fingers slowly traced the jagged red lines as the young king closely surveyed the damage with confusion. Gisela hadn't used her magic, which was strange.

His hands stopped their roaming when they reached his stomach. A rumbling sensation stirred within him and Yuuri could almost gag at the memory of the shadow completely enveloping him. He whimpered when he recalled the shadow shoving its way into his body, flipping threw his memories like a person flips through a boring book.

He could feel it. It was dormant but its power mingled with his own life, trailing about the tendrils of his own magic, tangling it, and controlling it.

The door creaked open and Yuuri turned to see Wolfram walk in with a tray of food.

"Oh, you're awake." He said upon seeing Yuuri standing. "You should be resting."

"I'm tired of resting." Yuuri walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge. Wolfram set the tray down on one of the tables and joined him.

The blonde grimaced as he took in Yuuri's appearance. "My god." He whispered. "You look awful."

Yuuri stiffened when Wolfram reached out a thin hand and traced one of the scratches on Yuuri's shoulder. The touch sent a mixture of dull pain and tickling on Yuuri's skin, as he brushed back a piece of hair, something the blonde was wont to do quite often.

"Yuuri." He said gently. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was…attacked..." Yuuri replied. "By a ghost."

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. "Ghost? There are no such things as ghosts. You were having a nightmare, sleepwalked and fell down some stairs. It was a stroke of luck that one of the help found you."

"But there was someone in my room!" Yuuri protested. "They-he-it tried to grab me and I ran down the stairs and then there was more of them and then this thing came and attacked me!"

"Yuuri there was no one there." Wolfram responded. "We've searched everywhere, the doors were locked and so were the windows. No one could have gotten in without the guards knowing. As a matter of fact, we don't know how you got out."

But Yuuri ignored him. "There was a man in the hallway!" He continued. "He was bigger than Gwendal and wearing a black robe. He did something to me!"

"You were having a nightmare. A really bad one caused by the change." Suddenly, Wolfram pulled Yuuri into a hug. The double black instinctively placed his own arms around the slim waist of his companion.

"Wolf?"

"I'm sorry." The prince whispered. "I should have been there to help you. This change thing is turning out to be more than we bargained for, ne?"

"Yeah." Was all Yuuri could think of to say.

"Marko said we should lock the bedroom door from the outside at night. He said this could happen again." Wolfram pulled away to hold Yuuri's at arm's length. "Do you think that's necessary?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I want you to have a say in what happens to you." Wolfram said. "Marko keeps giving us instructions like we're supposed to hold authority over you, but you are the king and we can only do what you allow us to. This is your body going through the change, you should have control over what happens to it."

Yuuri was a little taken aback, but touched. "Um, thanks, Wolf. I really appreciate it."

Wolfram smiled. "You're welcome. Now, you need to rest, you took quite a beating."

Yuuri was about to say something in response, but his posture suddenly stiffened and he turned his gaze to look at the far corner of the room. His eyes went wide with fear and he backed up a little from where Wolfram stood.

Wolfram looked at him confused, he followed his fiancé's stare to the corner but he saw nothing that could cause such a change in the double black's stance. "What are you looking at?'

Yuuri cut his attention back to him. "Nothing." He said quickly. "Hey, do you want to go back to our room? I don't like being in here anymore."

Wolfram only quirked an eyebrow. "What about your injuries?"

"They're not bad." Yuuri insisted. "I can't even feel them anymore." He shifted nervously on his feet. "Let's go."

Before Wolfram could say anything contrary, he was dragged out of the room by the spooked king and down the hall to their room. Unlike Yuuri, he couldn't see the black cloaked figure standing in the corner watching them.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

I'm back.

Did you miss me?

Did you think I was gone for good?

Did you think I was dead?

Did you think you had won?

No, no, no, silly little boy.

I am here for you, for me.

And I have plans.

Lots of plans.

Plans to harm you.

Plans to take you.

Plans to take everything.

Plans to destroy everything.

Plans to make you my toy.

My puppet.

My bitch.

I am here and I will win.

As long it is there.

Inside you.

I am here.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Well, there you have it, chapter four, which merely serves as a transition chapter into the meat of the story, thus it's a little shorter than the others, but that will not be the case for other chapters, I promise.

I hope the last bit didn't give too much away. If you have a guess as to what it is KEEP IT TO YOURSELF! I don't want to spoil it!

I didn't get as much done as I wanted to in this chapter. I meant to introduce a character into this chapter but it was awkward for me to include him. It just seemed like too much of a jump and I couldn't get a smooth enough transition from the last scene to his intro scene. I hope you all understand.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate your feedback and encouragement. It truly does help.

Please continue to review and for those of you who haven't – don't be lazy! Click the button! If you have the energy to put this story in your faves then you have energy to leave a review. It doesn't have to be long; reviews just give me fuel to write faster!

Love ya'll- EB


	5. Chapter 5 The Ninth Day

Chapter Five of The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya.

Here it is! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, your opinions do matter: they tell me what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.

This chapter in centered on an OC for the first half. I ask you to bear with me as it is central to the plot progression. You'll like him, I promise!

Disclaimer: I don't own it, never will.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Five: Wicked Little Thing (The Ninth Day)

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Every time he watched the rookies train, he couldn't help but remember his own days as a newly minted soldier.

They were so full of spirit and naïve enthusiasm for their profession. The dedication and pure optimism they displayed when they first walked through the gates and moved into their permanent barracks was something that filled the seasoned soldier with pride and equal enthusiasm for the new training regimen he had in store for them.

They would be rid of that happy-fluffy eagerness soon enough.

Alphonse sat down heavily on a bench as he watched the rookies practice their swordsmanship. New rookies were a lot like crops - sometimes you had a good bunch, sometimes you didn't. This one, thank goodness, was a pretty decent bunch, fresh from the academy and ready to show off their new skills to their commanders.

He usually didn't work with the rookies until their third or fourth week in. Captain Bielefeld liked to be the one to dry the moisture behind the rookies' ears. To weed out the weak ones, he had told his second-in-command.

Alphonse chuckled at the memory. He had a sneaking suspicion that his captain secretly enjoyed intimidating his new recruits. He wondered if it came from the fact that the captain's effeminate beauty and volatile nature made it harder for people to take him seriously, so getting to be all tough and in-charge was a thrill for the pretty captain.

Ah, those poor rookies. They would realize soon enough that Alphonse was the nice one.

With that in mind, he hadn't seen the captain lately. In the past few days, Bielefeld had been missing practices or showing up late to training. Ever since the king's anniversary ball a few days ago, the captain had been here and there but rarely at practice, which was very unusual considering the captain was such a stickler for punctuality.

It had something to do with the king no doubt. Alphonse hated gossip, but the maids' chattering was incessant and hard to miss. Apparently, the king was suffering from some kind of 'fit', which to Alphonse sounded like something that would befall a spoiled child.

But it must be serious if it kept the captain from his duties. Bielefeld was want to never miss practice for anything, only if it was something that had directly to do with his Majesty.

Alphonse looked up from his musings at the sound of his name being called. Speak of the devil…

He stood up and gave a quick salute to his captain. "Yes, your Excellency?"

Wolfram von Bielefeld, captain of the fire squadron, casually walked up to where his second-in-command stood. When he was face to face with Alphonse, the man noticed how absent his captain looked, his hair was slightly disheveled, jacket ever-so-slightly crooked and he had a distracted air about him.

Wolfram nodded in the direction of the rookies, who had boosted their efforts in the presence of their new captain. "How's the training going?"

"Good." Alphonse answered pleasantly. "I'm making sure to keep them nice and soft so you can strike fear into their hearts when the time comes."

A twitch of the lips, the closest Alphonse had ever seen his captain come to a smile. "I appreciate that."

"It is my pleasure."

Wolfram shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he looked at the rookies who were just finishing up the exercise Alphonse had given them. Alphonse quirked his head to the side, casually observing his captain's actions. Even if he never said anything, it was obvious that the young king occupied most of Bielefeld's thoughts every single hour of every day. Alphonse found it cute, though he valued his life far too much to say it out loud. Ah, the beauty of young love.

"Say Alphonse?"

"Yes, Captain?"

Wolfram fiddled with his sword hilt. A nervous habit. "Can you do me a huge favor?"

Alphonse stood up a little straighter. "Of course. What do you need me to do?"

"Can you take over the rookies' training for another week or so? I've been summoned to my family's lands as part of the wedding preparation."

"Um, sure." Alphonse said hesitantly. "But what about his Majesty?"

The abrupt stiffness of the captain almost made Alphonse regret asking the question. "What about him?"

"I've heard that he's been ill." Alphonse said casually, it seemed that even the most mundane mention of his Majesty made Bielefeld edgy. "Is his Majesty alright?"

Wolfram cut his eyes to the ground. "He's …doing better. But we have a specialist here who knows what's going on."

"Oh." Alphonse nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just showing concern for my captain's fiancé." Alphonse shrugged. "I would think after all our years together it would be expected of me to inquire to your family's health once in a while, as a friend."

Wolfram mumbled. "Oh, very well." And continued to fiddle with his hilt.

Alphonse smiled brightly. "I'd be happy to look after the rookies for you. Do you need me to look after the squadron as well?"

Wolfram shook his head. "No, I'll be taking them with me so you won't have to worry about them. Just focus on the trainees."

"Yes, sir." Alphonse said and then he happened to look up behind where Bielefeld stood. "Captain." He nodded his head in the direction towards the palace.

Wolfram looked up and turned around to see his Majesty walking briskly to where they conversed. The black color of his clothes absorbed the bright morning sunlight as he waved a piece of paper in his hand.

A heaved sigh brought Alphonse's attention back to the captain and the blonde man walked up to meet the king.

"Yuuri." Bielefeld scolded. "You should be in your office or in bed preferably."

The king pouted. A King pouting! "I just finished my work and I'm going back inside for a bite to eat. But I thought I should give you this first." The king handed Bielefeld the piece of paper.

"Couldn't you have gotten one of the pages to deliver it?" Wolfram said as he unfolded the letter.

The king shrugged. "I could have, but I felt like stretching my legs for a bit. Look." He tapped the edge of the letter. "As if the first three letters to you weren't enough, your uncle has sent me a letter politely demanding that I send you to him."

Bielefeld scanned the contents of the letter and then slumped forward as he slapped the letter against his leg, nearly dropping it. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes so far that Alphonse almost thought they would pop right out of his head. "I told him I would leave when I was ready! What is so important that I simply must come right now? I'm leaving today aren't I?" He shoved the paper into his Majesty's hands. "He needs to back off once in a while! I can't take the constant badgering!"

"It's not so bad." The king said sympathetically. "Just get it over with and you'll be done and everyone's happy." Noticing Alphonse for the first time, who stood behind Wolfram out of respect, The king gave a sweet smile and a nod. "Oh! Hello, there. I'm sorry to interrupt you."

"Not at all, your Majesty," said Alphonse with a very slight bow.

The king mm'd and turned back to conversing with the captain and Alphonse was allowed to continue examining the king. Alphonse had been second in command of the fire squadron for ten years and he had never once seen the king up close. It was always from a distance and what Alphonse did see was a somewhat lanky young man, a teenager really. The boy had just shown up out of the blue one day and then it was announced he would be the new king. For a long time, Alphonse thought it was the biggest prank in the world. Like kings really fall from the sky!

The official story, as Alphonse dubbed it for the sheer amount of stories that circulated around about the king's origins, was that the king was the son of merchants from an island in the Western commonwealths who had been divinely chosen by Shinou himself to be the new demon king. That would explain the boy's lack of political prowess and complete disregard for protocol if the rumors were true. Still, the king seemed like a nice enough young man, he had certainly never heard anything bad about him, just that he had a child-like innocence and was skilled at making friends with just about anybody, including his enemies.

He seemed to be alright. Albeit very young and sweet, Alphonse noted. He was obviously foreign though and Alphonse thought that the Official Story might actually be true in that regard. The king was tall and very thin, his hair was so black that it shone blue in the sunlight, he had the black eyes that were so coveted by the demon tribes. Alphonse knew of cosmeticians who made thousands selling dyes and potions to make people's hair and eyes black, but they could never be as richly black as the king's natural looks.

But it was his features that caught Alphonse's attention. He was pleasant to look at, Alphonse would give him that, but his looks stood out against the porcelain-skinned blondes, brunets and gingers of the demon tribe.

That, and he had an accent. Alphonse had traveled much in his lifetime and he had never encountered an accent such as the king's. It was so different from the harder accents from the Western commonwealths that he had known.

"Your Excellency!" Alphonse looked up from his thoughts to see one of the fire wielders running up to where the captain and king stood. The soldier bowed deeply before the king, mumbling a formal greeting, which was responded to with a smile and wave from the monarch.

Huh, odd one.

"What is it?" Bielefeld said curtly.

"The squadron is ready, sir."

"Ah, very good. You're excused."

With another bow, the solider ran off to where the horses and men were waiting for their captain, Bielefeld's own horse among them.

"Well," The king said. "I guess you better get going then. If you're going to make it by this evening." He turned to leave. "I'll get Greta so we can both see you off."

"Alright." Wolfram said quietly. To Alphonse, it appeared his captain wasn't too keen on going.

But the king just smiled. "Alright then, I'll see you in a minute." And then he was off.

"Alphonse."

"Yes, Captain?"

Bielefeld slowly turned to face his second-in-command. "Can you do something else for me? As a friend?"

Alphonse's brow knitted in concern. "Of course, Captain. Anything."

Bielefeld sighed heavily. "His Majesty has insisted I go on this trip. To get it over with and to shut my uncle up for a while. But," he sighed again. "Like what you've heard he has been ill."

"And you don't want to leave him?" Alphonse smiled knowingly. He had been there before.

Bielefeld nodded. "If something happens." He said. "I want you, Alphonse, to send word to me immediately. I don't trust that my fiancé will let me know of his health for fear of worrying me."

"I swear I will send word the second something occurs." Alphonse said seriously. "I'll use a carrier pigeon."

"Thank you, Alphonse."

"There they are." The captain mumbled suddenly. And sure enough, there was the King exiting the palace this time with the Princess Greta in tow, bouncing and chattering with her father who listened indulgently to her words.

"Goodbye, Alphonse." Bielefeld said as he walked away to join his men finally.

"Goodbye and safe journey." Alphonse replied and got up to tell his neglected rookies they could leave for the day, all the while wondering about the king and his "illness".

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

"Remember to finish your lessons, listen to your father and be good, okay?" Wolfram said as he lightly kissed Greta's forehead.

"I know, I know." She replied good-naturedly, kissing him back. "I'm not seven anymore!"

"But you still have things you need to do." Wolfram chided. "And I know your father likes to indulge you when I'm not around."

"I'm working on it!' Yuuri protested in mock-indignation.

"Then how come when I come back from trips, the first thing the tutors tell me is that Greta is behind on her lessons?" Wolfram glared at his fiancé, but it was in fun.

"The girl has her own mind!" Yuuri shrugged helplessly but he grinned. "She has your stubbornness. And you know I'm powerless against that!"

"Wimp."

"I guess I am."

Wolfram looked mildly surprised. "You're not going to yell at me for calling you wimp?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I've gotten used to it, I guess. I'd feel weird if you didn't call me that."

"Huh…" was the reply. "Hey, Yuuri?"

"Yes, Wolf?"

The blonde leaned in so close their noses almost touched. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Don't." Yuuri whispered. "Just go to your uncle's and come back. In and out. I'm not going anywhere." He smiled and placed a hand on Wolfram's arm comfortingly. "And besides I've been feeling great the past couple of days."

"I still don't want to leave you."

"Then hurry and come back." Yuuri said and affectionately brushed a piece of stray hair from Wolfram's face. "The sooner you get there, the sooner you can come home."

Wolfram blushed lightly at the unexpected gesture. "If anything happens…" Wolfram said firmly, collecting himself.

"I'll send for you, I promise." Yuuri patted the blonde's arm reassuringly. "It will be fine."

"It'd better." With that, Wolfram turned away from the double black and swiftly mounted his horse and his men followed suit, all sharp in their blue outfits, but none outshone their captain in the afternoon sun.

"We're off." Wolfram called. With a shout, he galloped out of the courtyard, through the gates with his men following behind him into the afternoon sun.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse would have appreciated it if Bielefeld finished his paperwork before leaving on a trip.

The soldier sighed heavily as he scribbled the last entries on the roster for the rookies and the squadron. He had to enter the dates, times and nature of the training, who was there, who was injured, who was staying, who was leaving, who requested vacation time and a multitude of other things that had to be written up and sent to the king. This multitude of documentation was the responsibility of the commanding officer to fill out and place on the king's desk. If this was not completed, the soldiers would not get their monthly stipend or be compensated for any additional hours put in. There was also equipment check and inventory and requests for new weapons or repairs had to be submitted by the end of the month otherwise they would get pushed to the next month and then the issue of losing those documents arose and if that happened they would have to start all over again.

Alphonse signed off the final document with theater bravado and gathered the papers, tapped them to make all the sheets even and tied them together with string and made ready to drop them off at the king's office. He was happy to be done for the day.

Feeling much better from finally completing the immense and complex stack, he whistled cheerfully as he walked down the hall, nodding in greeting at the maids, those pretty maids and the pages, they were cute too.

He approached the black-clad guards standing at attention outside the king's office. That meant the king was inside working. Alphonse hesitated for a bit-it was always Bielefeld who dropped off the paperwork and since he was also the king's fiancé, he could probably just walk in whenever. Alphonse doubted the guards recognized him; he rarely came this way.

"Ahem," he said with as much authority as possible. By all rights and reasons, it was possible he out-ranked these guards. "I'm here to deliver these documents to his Majesty, King Yuuri. May I come in?"

The guards just stared at him for a while and Alphonse became self-conscious. Maybe the king was in a meeting or something and couldn't be bothered.

"He's busy right now." One of the guards grunted.

"I understand," Alphonse said pleasantly. "But it's the end of the month and these need to be submitted today or an entire squadron won't get paid this month. And I'm sure his Majesty won't enjoy that backlash."

They stared at him again, searching for any falsehoods, though Alphonse didn't know what they could possibly be looking for that would indicate as such. But the guard who spoke nodded sternly and Alphonse casually stepped forward and knocked on the door.

"Come in…" answered a soft voice.

Alphonse carefully pushed the oak door inward and bowed. "Your Majesty."

The king looked up from his desk. "Do you have something for me?" He asked indicating the papers in the soldier's hands.

"Yes, your Majesty. These are the rosters and payroll for this month, ready for your approval and signature."

The king smiled. "Good, bring them here then."

With a nod Alphonse walked up to the huge desk and silently placed the stack of papers on the desk next to the king's hand. The young ruler immediately picked them up and began leafing through the documents.

As part of royal etiquette, Alphonse was not allowed to leave unless dismissed. He instead stole a closer look at their young monarch as the dark man checked his work.

The king did look rather under the weather. He had visible dark markings under his eyes, and his gaze appeared somewhat vacant and dull. Alphonse wondered if he had the flu, maybe that's what was ailing him. The flu often gave people painful cramps and that could have been what caused him to collapse at the party last week.

He absently watched the king continue flipping through the documents. He had large hands, or perhaps long fingers with small palms. They were oddly discolored and rough looking…wait.

Alphonse tried to imperceptibly lean closer to examine the king' hands. They were discolored, very much so. They were red and braised, as if he had dipped them in scalding water.

He was sure he saw the king hand Bielefeld the letter and his hands appeared fine. Did he miss something?

"What was your name again?"

"Alphonse von Weber, your Majesty." He replied, not at all indicating that he had been staring.

The king bit his lips and flipped through the last few pages. "I don't see your form here. Did you fill out one for yourself?"

"Um…" Damn. "I forgot. Forgive me, your Majesty."

"Oh, it's no big deal." The double black said. "You can turn it in tomorrow. I can just save these until then."

"Is that alright, your Majesty?"

"Sure, just have it in by ten." The king pulled out a drawer to put away the documents.

As he pulled the drawer out, his sleeve slid a little down his arm revealing his thin wrist and part of his arm. Alphonse held back a gasp when he saw the red, angry blisters peeking out from white bandages. The severity of the injuries was something that Alphonse had never seen before and he was left wondering what could have possibly caused such a thing. So much so that he didn't stop himself from speaking aloud.

"Your Majesty," Alphonse said worriedly. "May I ask what happened to your arm?"

The king paused for a second as if he didn't know what Alphonse spoke of. He looked down casually at his scalded wrists like it was the first time he noticed them.

"Oh," He said calmly. "I got those last night."

Alphonse's brow furrowed in confusion. Why was he acting so blasé about an injury this serious?

"How did you get them?"

The younger man just shrugged and went back to meddling with the documents on his desk. "The burning man gave them to me." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Now Alphonse was really confused. "The _what_, your Majesty?"

"The burning man," he repeated. "He came to my room last night, he was on fire completely. I tried to help him by throwing the water from the wash basin on him, but he was running around so I missed and then he fell on me and that's how I got them."

The king spoke as if in a dream, staring past Alphonse and at the wall behind him, eyes glazed and unfocused, hands held up, palms facing the ceiling, surrendering and helpless.

Didn't Bielefeld share a room with the king? "Was Lord Bielefeld there to help you?"

"He didn't wake up." He said flatly.

There was a burning man in the king's room and no one noticed but him? That logic was surprising in its ludicrousness. If it weren't the king, Alphonse wouldn't have hesitated to laugh out loud and then ask what was he smoking. If there had been such a man, the castle would have been buzzing like mad about it. Alphonse could only look at the king stupidly, trying to find some explanation, which included the possibility that the king was joking. If a man tried to murder the king by setting his room on fire, wouldn't there be more security and a little more edginess on the part of the Royal retainers and Bielefeld especially. Bielefeld wouldn't have left after something this serious.

Unless it wasn't that serious. But that didn't explain the burns on his arms.

"Then where did you get those burns?"

"I told you, the burning man fell on me." The king insisted, but suddenly he paused and stared hard at spot on the wall.

The soldier scrutinized the other man, determined to find some indication that he was telling a tall tale. But he found no such thing, but that made absolutely no sense at all.

Deciding it was best to just digress, Alphonse simply responded. "Oh…." He wanted to inquire further but his training demanded that he stay out of the king's business and he was aware of the repercussions for delving into royal affairs. That and he was completely thrown for a loop with the king's story and didn't know how to answer intelligently.

"Who are you?" The boy king whispered to the spot.

Alphonse blinked. "Excuse me, your Majesty?"

The king looked up at him. "Never mind." He sat back in his chair. "Did you need something else? I think I'm going to pack up for the day."

The soldier straightened up immediately, remembering his reason for coming to the king's office in the first place. "Oh, right, well then, excuse me, your Majesty." He bowed and swiftly exited the room.

Just as he was about to walk into the hall, the king stopped him.

"Alphonse?"

He turned around. "Yes, your Majesty?"

The king gave a shy smile. "I'll see you around then?"

Alphonse shifted from one foot to the other nervously. "Um, of course your Majesty. I am here training the new recruits all week."

"Cool. See you later."

"Yes, your Majesty." Alphonse quickly shut the door and walked down the hall to his own quarters, mind struggling to make sense of what had just transpired.

That must be the worst case of the flu he had ever seen.

Poor King Yuuri.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram could almost cry with relief. Finally! They were riding through the gates of the massive Bielefeld estate. He and his men had a long ride and they were tired and starving. They would not have been that way, had Wolfram not been in such a hurry. But he was driven by the logic that stated if he got to Bielefeld faster, he could get back to Yuuri sooner.

The clamor of the huge gates opening and the chorus of greetings by the staff, some he had known since birth, barely registered in the demon prince's mind as his thoughts once again drifted back to his distant fiancé. Truly, even this trip seemed surreal for the fact that it was an unmistakable statement to the confirmation of something he had long thought would never happen. He was getting married.

He barely registered dismounting his horse and handing off the reigns to a stableman as he quickly ascended the granite stairs into the foyer.

The farther they drew away from the capital the harder that little string of worry and guilt tugged at Wolfram's heart and he asked himself for the millionth time why had he given in and let Yuuri convince him to leave despite the circumstances. He couldn't stop the dread inside him, telling him that this was a bad idea. He would have scoffed at the idea of leaving his sick fiancé alone and told his uncle it would have to wait, but that stupid thing called tradition and that even more useless thing called honor, forced him to leave. He didn't have to go now or so soon. He had time to wait. He could have stayed. But Yuuri insisted.

Wolfram unceremoniously tossed his riding coat to a startled servant. "Tell my uncle that I am here and I wish to see him immediately." He barked as he stomped up the stairs, making the servant have to push past to get ahead of him and alert Waltorana of his arrival.

Yuuri would always do this! If Wolfram had to go on a trip, be it for business or other, Yuuri would always insist that he go as soon as possible, stating that it was better to do it now than later. He had never taken such an interest in Wolfram's schedule before, but lately the king had been pushing Wolfram to spend time away from the castle.

Wolfram didn't like it. It felt like Yuuri was distancing himself from him. These past few months had been so difficult for them and the last week even more so. They used to talk all the time. At night, before they went to sleep Yuuri would eagerly tell him of his day, all the new things he had learned about the kingdom he ruled, the new stance Conrad taught him, the new fruit that looked like something on Earth. Wolfram found it adorable that Yuuri got excited over the smallest mundane things. He loved those moments because they were the one time that Yuuri would actually open up to him and accept him jus a little bit.

But now, those moments were gone, ever since Yuuri started having those pain episodes and now this change, he had been withdrawing into himself more and more. It seemed that Yuuri's attempts at self-sufficiency and independence involved cutting himself off from his fiancé and refusing his help or company.

This change had only made things more difficult. Now Yuuri was plagued with nightmares and would harm himself in his sleep. But he never woke Wolfram or asked for his help. Wolfram cursed himself for being such a heavy sleeper; he remained blissfully ignorant of his fiancé's plight every night until the morn, when Yuri would appear with more scratches and last night, burns. Yuuri refused to tell Wolfram what he dreamed about, and that doctor was no help, telling them it was just Yuuri's imagination on over drive from the transformation and his loss of control of his magic.

Two days. Two days, counting today and that was his maximum. He would go in get the stupid tradition over with and get back to Yuuri's side, helping him, caring for him in anyway that Yuuri would let him.

He reached his uncle's parlor just in time to see the servant from before scurry away down on of the halls. He didn't bother to knock, only shoved the door in and strode up to where his uncle sat at a table, a fresh tea set laid out before him.

Waltorana smiled warmly as his favorite nephew approached him, He stood, arms extended in welcome and Wolfram dutifully returned the fatherly embrace.

"Wolfram!" Waltorana said as he patted his back. "I'm glad you made it safely."

"Thank you, Uncle." He replied politely.

Waltorana gestured towards the table. "Please, have a seat. It's been too long since we last spoke at length." He sat down in his own seat and watched Wolfram expectantly.

Wolfram smoothly glided into the high-backed chair, trying to appear as casual as possible. Talking with his uncle always made Wolfram uneasy, for as long as he could remember his uncle had an imposing air about him, like he knew more about you than you knew of yourself and he would exploit that knowledge.

But Waltorana was perfectly relaxed. As soon as Wolfram was seated comfortably, the older Bielefeld gracefully poured the hot tea into their cups, a perfect host.

"Uncle," Wolfram said. "I won't be able to stay for long. I have matters that I must attend to with my fiancé."

"I know," Waltorana answered indulgently. "This won't take too much time."

Wolfram stared into his cup irritably. "I still don't know why you needed me to come so soon. This could have waited."

"I don't know if you read the letter carefully, my nephew." The demon lord said patiently. "But I did say that I would be busy up until the day of the wedding, therefore, we have to get this done now or it won't be completed and that would hold up the wedding, which I'm certain you don't want."

Wolfram could only glare at his cup then. "I still don't see what makes this so important that you couldn't write it to me in a letter." He grumbled.

"Then, we run the risk of interception, don't we?"

"Hmph, so what do you have to say then? What great and terrible secrets must you burden me with for the rest of my life?"

"So impatient." His uncle tsk'd. "Fine, I wanted to talk to you about your relationship."

Wolfram rolled his eyes. "Of course. What do you want know? May I point out here that if you're looking for information to use against his Majesty, you might as well throw me on the rack, because I'm not saying a damned thing."

"Fair enough." Waltorana said calmly. " I must say this wedding comes as a surprise to many and it means a lot of changes for our family."

Wolfram glared at his uncle. "What do you mean surprise? Then what was that private meeting you had with the king and Gwendal? Just a little chit-chat between old friends? How stupid do you think I am?"

Waltorana smirked. "So you were told of that."

"I know it happened." Wolfram said. "But I don't know what you did to him. You bullied him like you always do!"

"I did no such thing." The demon lord sniffed.

Lies! "What did you do?" Wolfram hissed. "What did you say to him? Better yet, what did you say to make Gwendal side with you?"

Instead of answering, Waltorana took a long sip of tea and looked out the huge arched windows. After contemplating whatever was outside, he turned to his nephew with a cold expression.

"You know that you were born into the largest and most powerful of the Aristocrats, don't you?" The demon lord spoke very deliberately.

"Yes?" Wolfram said slightly confused.

"The Bielefeld territory," Waltorana continued. " Is the largest of the territories, our forefathers saw to that with their close connection with the demon king, starting with Shinou and Rufus. We are the largest exporters of the two largest crops in Shin Makoku. We have the best fire wielders, economic ties with human countries, weapons manufacture, monopolies and a multitude of other resources that make us invaluable and irreplaceable and _perfectly capable_ of ruling separately from the demon king." Waltorana stared at his nephew steadily as he took another sip of tea. "We also have strong ties with Voltaire and they owe us quite a few debts."

Wolfram merely stared back in confusion. He knew all of this very well, it had been part of his education his entire life. Waltorana had no need to repeat these lessons to him for they were apart of his memory from childhood. Why was he…..

A sudden realization crashed down onto Wolfram's mind and he looked at his uncle with total disbelief.

"Did you…..did you try to _blackmail_ my fiancé?" He hissed with utter disgust.

Completely ignoring the death glare he was receiving, Waltorana refilled his cup. "I didn't threaten." He said. "I _reminded_ his Majesty and Voltaire of the large amounts of military and economic support Bielefeld gives them and the other Aristocrats."

Wolfram was livid. "I don't care what you call it!" He shouted. "How could do something like this? This is completely crossing the line, Uncle! Yuuri is the demon king. You can't just go blackmailing him, I won't let you take advantage of my fiancé like that. I don't care if it's for my sake!"

"Who said it was for your sake?" Waltorana sneered. "The Bielefeld family has survived for thousands of years since the time of the Greta One, by acting as one unit and not pursuing selfish desires. I, and those before me, have dedicated their lives to ensuring the continued prosperity and survival of our family by always, always, being the strongest, smartest and the closest to the king. The Bielefeld family has provided countless demon kings and those who didn't become king, _married_ a king. And this is no different, Wolfram. The Bielefeld bloodline has remained pure and untainted for thousands of years. No one has married anything less than a pure-blood demon noble. Until now." He glared at his nephew accusingly. "But that doesn't matter anymore. I finally got the boy king to finally marry you and our position will solidified for good."

"How dare you!" Wolfram was so mad he could barely see straight. "How dare you take control of my life like that for your own political gain! Yuuri means more to me than that-"

"And there in lies the problem!" His uncle spat. "You let yourself get attached. I invested too much time and money into your education and training for you to follow that boy around like a lovesick puppy and make a fool of your self! I taught you better than that!"

"I won't be your pawn!" Wolfram shrieked, hurting from the truth that lay behind his uncle's words.

"I'm doing this for your own good!" Waltorana shouted. "You should count yourself lucky that you even get along with your intended, much less have any romantic feelings towards each other"

"That's…I…" Wolfram stuttered, he didn't know what Yuuri felt for him. He was an idiot, he had actually thought for a moment, for a brief hopeful moment that Yuuri's words of loyalty and semi-acceptance were his own awkward way of saying that he was beginning to return Wolframs affections.

It was just his uncle's meddling mixed with Yuuri's guilt.

Waltorana mistook his nephew sudden silence for concession. "Lovers and spouses come and go." He said, placing his hands comfortingly on Wolframs stiff shoulders. "But family is forever. Your family is the only one you can trust. I am the only one you can trust, Wolfram. I'm doing this to ensure your happiness, that you are given everything you want and need and are never left without."

_I will make it work. For you. I will be a good husband. Give you everything you want or need._

Yuuri only said that because of his uncle. He didn't mean it the way Wolfram wanted him to, had thought he did. Wolfram violently shoved his uncle away. "You've only made things worse!" He snarled.

"Calm down, Wolfram!" Waltorana scolded. "I'm telling you this now so you can understand what I'm about to bestow on you. You are not only our direct connection to the throne, but you are the one chosen heir to Bielefeld. Everything you do, everything you say is a reflection on our family's integrity and credibility."

When Wolfram didn't answer but chose instead to glare out the window, Waltorana added. "Since he doesn't return your feelings, you might as well just use the marriage for what it is –a catalyst for your own advancement. That's what marriages between nobles and royalty are for anyway."

Wolfram had had enough. "That's it!" He shouted. "I'm leaving. I won't stand to be a part of your schemes! I thought you had finally accepted Yuuri but I see I was wrong!" He spun on his heels and stalked towards the door and to the exit.

"Wolfram!" His uncle yelled after him. "Get back here!" Slamming down his cup, he followed his nephew out the door.

Wolfram ignored his uncle's protests and shouted at a servant to tell his men they were leaving now. If he stayed another second longer he feared that he might say something he would regret much later.

The nerve of him! Waltorana didn't need to explain for Wolfram to understand wheat his uncle was really after!

Waltorana caught up to the blonde and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to face him. "Now, listen here!-"

"You listen!" Wolfram shrieked. "If it were anyone else. If it were any of the other suitors you wasted my time with. If it were anyone but _him_, I would agree with you. But it _is_ him and I can't. I won't. Yuuri is more than that to me, he's so much more than your dirty tricks and your bullying and I will not use Yuuri and exploit him the way you would! This isn't some childhood crush! This is real!" Wolfram jerked way from the older Bielefeld. "Now let me go!"

Waltorana only stared as he stomped to the front doors and with his own hands shoved them open.

Only to be greeted with a wall of rain that blinded him to the entire courtyard and splattered cold water droplets onto his hot face. The spring rains had come.

"You're kidding me." He rasped. "You are damned kidding me!" His shrieks were drowned out by the immense roar of the torrential down pour.

The leader of the Bielefeld's placed a casual hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Looks like you'll be staying here a while, my nephew."

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

"Captaaaaaiiiinnnn…"

Conrad steadfastly ignored the whine coming from his bed. The only sound he made was the pen scribbling across the letter he was writing.

"Conraaaart…" A purr this time.

The swordsman just sniffed and continued his work.

"I know you can hear me…..Conrart! Conraaad….Would you like it if I said it like the kiddo? How does he say it? Con-u-rah-do."

A tiny little vein popped on Conrad's forehead, but he held fast. Maybe he'll give up and go back to sleep.

"I gotta roll the 'r' don't I? Con-u-r-r-r-r-r-ah-do!"

Conrad violently threw his pen against the desk with a hard tap. "What, Yozak?" He turned in his chair to glower at his obnoxious companion.

Yozak pouted and batted his sky blue eyes in mock hurt at his lovely captain. "I just wanna talk to you. Is that so wrong?"

Conrad returned to his letter. "I have to finish this. It's important."

The bed creaked as the spy rolled onto his back and presumably stared at the ceiling as he was want to do. Yozak was probably the only one Conrad would allow into his room, let alone languish on his bed. Conrad never liked people in his room, not even allowing the maids to come clean it up and instead dropping off his own laundry in the laundry rooms downstairs. He heard Yozak give a bored sigh as he examined the already familiar room. Honestly, the place hadn't changed in decades-there was the same chair and table in the corner, the same fireplace, the same shelves with little knick-knacks and collectibles acquired from the many trips the captain had taken in his long life and of course the almighty toy duck Conrad had taken from the infant king during his trip to Earth years ago.

Yozak had once told him the story behind the toy duck was so cute and sweet it made his teeth hurt.

The rest of the room was neat and sparse, only the barest of necessities was present and only mute colors decorated the walls and drapes and bed.

It was just like Conrad; subtle, neat, simple and yet had warmth to it.

Yozak craned his head backwards to look at the captain's upside down back hunched over the topsy-turvy desk.

"You know,' The ginger spy said. "How come when I get time off, you're suddenly so busy? I came all the way here just to spend time with you like a good boyfriend and suddenly you're pre-occupied."

"No one told you to take time off." Conrad said coldly scribbling at a mad pace.

"You know you're not as nice and noble as everyone thinks you are." Yozak quipped. "If only they knew the real you, cold-hearted and neglectful of your poor boyfriend! Kiddo will be so disappointed."

"Don't give me that." Conrad waved a pen threateningly at his companion. "If only they knew the real you, then they'd know why."

Yozak only snorted and looked out the window into the early evening, which really looked like late evening thanks to the vicious rain outside. "Whew, that's rain's on a mission. It's really coming down."

"Yeah," Conrad said. "I hope Wolfram made it safely."

"I'm sure he did. The little spitfire's probably nice and warm in his uncle's place." Yozak rolled back on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. "What are you writing?"

"A letter." Conrad said absently.

"A letter 'bout what?" Yozak asked.

"Gwendal wanted me to send another letter asking for the Great Sage to come to Blood Pledge."

"For the kiddo?"

"Yes," said Conrad as he sat back in his chair. "He sent out a first one a couple days ago, but we haven't heard anything from him. It's strange, we know he's there but he's either not answering or he's really not there, which wouldn't make sense because where could he go? "

"Well, maybe he went back to their world?" Yozak suggested. "What was it called? Ee-yarth."

"Earth, Yozak." Conrad corrected. "And that's impossible. He can't go to Earth without His Majesty. So it can't be that."

"Maybe he's sick too."

"Maybe." Conrad slumped forward, running hand tiredly through his brown hair.

Yozak sympathized. "Why don't you turn in for the night? You can finish that tomorrow."

Conrad shook his head. "I have to do my routine with his Majesty and then train the soldiers. I won't have time."

Yozak was about to answer but he paused and a mischievous glint shone in his eyes. He slowly got off the bed and swaggered over to where his captain sat and placed his hands on stiff shoulders and began to rub at the tired muscles.

The captain tried to shrug away from his touch, but Yozak's hands only followed him. "What are you doing?"

Yozak leaned forward to speak directly into the captain's ear, his breath against the sensitive curves sent visible shudders through the other man's body. "Giving you a shoulder rub."

Conrad grabbed Yozak's hands and pulled them away, the light of the lamp accentuated his growing blush. "Not now. Your shoulder rubs are lethal. I won't be able to finish this if you do that!" He half-heartedly protested.

Yozak was not deterred. He wanted his captain's attention and he would get it, by thunder!

His hands slid sensually down Conrad's biceps. "What about an arm rub?"

Conrad started rearranging the papers on his desk in a vain attempt to blow off his advances. "No."

"What about a wrist rub?" His fingers danced over the soft skin of Conrad's wrists, feelings the small calluses and bony knuckles.

Conrad slapped his hand away. "No." He said flatly, but the blush remained in place.

"A finger rub?" Yozak intertwined his fingers with Conrad's own and slowly lifted them from the desk.

"No, Yozak!" He tried to sound stern, but he couldn't suppress the small chuckle that bubbled up from within.

Yozak tightened his grip on the other man's wrists and held them to Conrad's chest in a cross, halting any chance of escape.

" I saw you getting frisky with the king." He said suddenly.

Conrad immediately stiffened in Yozak's grip. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you the other day, _teaching_ the kiddo a new stance by _positioning _him." Yozak kept his voice light, but it still had an edge to it.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was just helping him get the right stance. Nothing more." He said casually.

"Yeah-uh?" Yozak said with skepticism. "So his rear was an essential part of the stance right? That's why you had to keep touching it."

"I wasn't touching it. I had my hand on his leg."

"But you were on you're way there. If the lord brat hadn't stepped in." Conrad felt Yozak's fingers tighten even more.

"That's hurts Yozak." Conrad said as he tried to yank his wrists away.

But Yozak held fast. "Am I too old for you now? You like them a little younger?" His tone was strangely teasing but Conrad heard the underlying suspicion.

"No, Yozak. You'll never be too anything for me." Conrad said, doing his best impression of Yuuri's puppy eyes.

Yozak did his best impression of a Wolfram huff and was about to throw a barb at his seemingly noble and innocent partner when a frantic knock startled the men out of their bush-beating conversation.

"You expecting someone, Captain? The kiddo, perhaps?" Yozak quipped.

"You hush." Conrad shot back, successfully escaping Yozak's hands.

Glad for the distraction, Conrad stood up, bumping Yozak out of the way and made for the door. "What's going on?" He said but his voice was nearly drowned out as the knocks started again this time with a greater sense of urgency.

Conrad barely had the door open when a dark blur nearly crashed into him in its desperation to enter the room from the dark hallway.

Conrad caught the figure in one arm to stop him from falling, he noticed the tangled mass of black hair as the figure turned around and slammed the door shut, ripping the knob out of the soldier's hand.

"What in the world?" He gasped. "Your Majesty?"

Yuuri took a few steps into the room and turned around. He was in his nightclothes but they were all askew and his shirt was buttoned unevenly as if he had gotten dressed in a hurry. He was visibly shaking, his face was white as a sheet, and he looked like he had been crying with more tears threatening to fall from his dinner-plate sized eyes that stared at the closed door.

"Yuuri?" Conrad said uneasily.

The young man didn't say anything, instead he continued to stare at the door as if some great terrible being were about the crash it down.

Yozak took a step towards the frightened man. "Kid? Yuuri?" He tentatively moved forward, the events of before playing across his mind and cautioning him against sudden movement.

"C-Conrad?" The king whimpered. "Can I…..stay here with you?"

"What wrong? What happened, Yuuri?" Conrad asked, brows furrowed with increasing anxiety. He placed his hands on quaking shoulders to calm the younger man and draw his attention to him from the door. He gazed into glassy black eyes. "What happened?"

"I was….getting ready for bed and-and the people were talking and they were yelling…I…I didn't talk back…I just got my stuff and got dressed. But…they…it was…" As he struggled to speak, Yuuri's shoulders shook harder and harder and his breathing became increasingly shallow and rapid.

Conrad lifted his hand and cupped a cold cheek. "Shhh, calm down. It's going to be alright." The steady tone of his voice skillfully hid the utter confusion he was feeling at Yuuri's jumbled, disbanded words. "What people? Were you talking to the servants?"

Yuuri shook his head, eyes darting across the room. "I didn't…..They…him….And I…" His babble was interrupted by a harsh cough.

Conrad shushed him again. "Let's get you something cold to drink and you sit down." He made to guide Yuuri to sit on his bed and comfort the unhinged man.

Yozak suddenly gasped. "Conrad! Look at his hands!"

Conrad immediately turned his attention to Yuuri's limps hands and he too gasped when he saw the vicious scalds on the double black's hands.

"Yuuri!" He said, shocked at the extent of the damage revealed by the unraveling bandages wrapped around Yuuri's wrists. "What happened to you!"

Yuuri only whined and mumbled incoherently as Conrad and Yozak stared in horror at the injuries and the clumsy bandages that vainly hid them. Conrad was so intent on listening to Yuuri that he didn't even notice the burns or the way Yuuri carefully held his arms away from his sides.

Yozak was at his side instantly, lifting the unresponsive limbs to closer survey the damage. He happened to push up the sleeve of Yuuri's shirt, revealing the tattered bandages, red angry burns that peeked from beneath the cloth and a little higher-scratches.

"My god, what the hell happened to you?" Yozak breathed, brain scrambling to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

"I…don't know." Yuuri whimpered.

"Where did these come from?" Conrad demanded.

"I don't know! They did it!" The younger man sobbed. "But they're all over the place. It hurts!"

At that, Conrad swiftly unbuttoned the first three buttons of Yuuri's shirt and tugged back the folds of cloth, exposing the mosaic of long red claw-like scratches that covered seemingly every inch of Yuuri's torso. The scratches were grouped into three parallel lines scattered across the expanse of Yuuri's skin and ranged from short to nearly stretching across from one side to the other. They ranged in color from bright red to dark purple, and some of them resembled burn marks.

"Great Shinou!" Conrad breathed unable to think of anything to say as the injured boy in front of him began to sob anew, body shaking and shrinking from the other men.

"He needs a healer." Yozak whispered urgently over the sobs to Conrad.

The captain nodded and gently took Yuuri's shoulder's and guided the young king to the door.

Yuuri blindly followed him all the while whimpering and choking and babbling about things and people he saw or heard in his room. Once in a while, He would clearly say "him" or "it" but neither Conrad or Yozak knew what to make of it, only that this was the change causing their king's suffering.

As they made their way into the hall, Yuuri looked up at his godfather. "Conrad," He said, voice small like a child's. "Where did Wolfram go?"

"He went to his family lands." Conrad said softly, rubbing soothing circles on Yuuri's back. "You insisted he go. You saw him off remember?"

Yuuri just looked at him blankly. "No, I didn't." He said, sniffling. "I was in my office and then I went to my room. I haven't seen him all day."

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Yay, chapter five!

The next couple of chapters might take a little longer, but I'll try to keep them coming fairly regularly. I'm currently doing a research project for my school and that will take up most of my time. I've been working on the project during the day and working on THYS in the evening, but my work may spill into the late hours so I won't have as much time to devote to this story as I'd like.

The scene with Wolfram and Waltorana was hard to write, mostly because I don't get into big verbal matches with people. I kind of just say what I want and then leave. I don't like arguments, I'd rather just talk. I'm like Yuuri in that sense and it's probably one of the reasons I find myself relating to him the most. Also, Wolfram and Yuuri are somewhat difficult to characterize because they are so often portrayed as one-note on the surface but they're clearly more complex. I do hope that I am keeping them in character while still adding my own interpretations of their personalities without sacrificing their core traits.

A couple of people have mentioned that Yuuri's character is a little…muted. Almost melancholy. That, my readers, is a deliberate characterization and the reasons behind it will be explained in later chapters, more than likely towards the climax of the story. It would be kind of boring if I just spelled it out so quickly. I just want you to know that I realize Yuuri is kind of emo, but that's on purpose and as I said, it will be explained later. There's a good reason for it, I promise!

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and a big thank you to my new beta SweetxSnowxDream.

Also, there will be a MAJOR CLUE in chapter six as to the identity of the cloaked figure. A cookie if you can spot it!

Thanks and you all have a wonderful summer! -EB


	6. Chapter 6 The Thirteenth Day

© ElisiansBane, 2010-2011

Chapter Six of The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate your time and encouragement. I don't think I would have stuck to the story this far if it wasn't for all of you! Grazie!

Disclaimer: What do you think? I mean seriously….

Warnings: I hope you're wearing your study pants…

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Six: Where I End (The Thirteenth Day)

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Yuuri lay in bed, staring at the canopy above his bed, his body contorted into some awkward position across the mattress with the sheets tangled about his sore arms and legs, a result of his body's vain attempts to sleep. The flashes of lightening illuminated the room in black and white, glinting across glazed, blank eyes as he lay there, corpse-like and limp, unable or unwilling to move and leave the torments of the room that once brought him comfort.

It was sacrilegious, the bedroom was in its own right a sanctuary from the outside evils and to violate its sacredness was a horrible offense. A bedroom is the one place where one can feel truly safe, it where one is most vulnerable and exposed, unbridled or censored, free from the social norms and dangers that wheedled their way into the other, more public rooms of the household. But the bedroom was safe, the bedroom was open, the bedroom was vulnerable, the bedroom was…a trap.

That's what the bedroom came to mean to Yuuri in the past week, a trap, or really, a cage where the voices of the damned paraded past him, hissing, whispering and grating against his ears and his psyche. They hovered above him, their words came as distant utterances and he could never understand what they were saying, but he knew, deep down, that they talked about the same subject and in the same manner of menace. They were always talking about him.

If they weren't talking, they were touching him. He could feel their invisible hands, ice cold and hard as stone, dragging over his arms, legs, face and anything else that wasn't covered by sheets. Even if he thrashed, fought and yelled, their hands never left his skin. The voices grew in volume, but not in coherence. He was at their mercy. He was trapped.

A clap of thunder. The room was bathed in blue light, and the shadows came alive and formed bodies standing around the room. Then the light flickered out and they were hidden in the darkness of the early morning storm.

If he dared to look, Yuuri would recognize the figures that creeped about his bed. They lurked about, moving from one side to the next, but their eyes, or what could be eyes, never left him. They crept gradually closer with every lightening strike, eyes bottomless and wide, arms extended, fingers clawed. There was the white ghoul that lived in the washroom. Ever since the first time Yuuri saw him, the ghoul appeared every night and never strayed far from the door to the washroom. He moved the least of all the geists, only standing and staring from his spot across the room. He frightened Yuuri most of all, simply because, of all the spirits, he didn't have emotion, didn't speak like the others or give some indication of his plight, he was just bleak.

Then there was the little girl, still looking for her ribbons. Yuuri met her mother yesterday, a horrid woman. He didn't blame the child for always dwelling in the hall outside his room, it was the only place she was safe from her mother. Yes, her mother liked to walk up and down the halls incessantly in front of his office, cursing and yelling for her daughter.

The burning man was the most disruptive. Yuuri sometimes heard him running down the hall outside his room, screaming in a language that he didn't recognize. Yuuri went stiff when he heard the familiar shouts, always around midnight, echoing down the stone hallways and he dared to turn his head to watch the glow of the flames pass under the crack of the doors and back again. Because ever since that night, he never knew when the burning man would burst through the doors and flight about the room before jumping out the window to his, presumably, redundant death.

The healing burns on Yuuri's arms ached at the prospect of another visitation. He was asleep when the burning man entered his room, Wolfram was asleep next to him and he would never understand why or how Wolfram slept through the entire ordeal. The flames lit up the room and the smell of burning cloth and skin engulfed the room, which nearly made Yuuri gag if it where not for the sight of the enflamed man. He had jumped off the bed, jolted from the grogginess of sleep, screamed for his companion to wake up, but he might as well been alone. He stood frozen by the side of the bed watching as the figure convulsed and howled in pain as he crumpled to the ground. In a moment of clarity, Yuuri was able to run to the washroom, glad that the White Man was not there for once, and grabbed the bowl of water to try to put out the fire. The burning man moved, causing the wave of water to miss him, and instead he turned on Yuuri and grabbed his arms, flames searing his flesh, re-releasing that rancid smell into the room.

Yuuri had screamed and pushed the man off. His assailant then turned and flung himself through the window, the light from the fire reflecting off the dew-soaked leaves of the trees outside.

He had stood there in shocked silence, the hot pain on his arms only barely registering in his mind as he struggled to control his breathing and make sense of what had just happened. He looked blankly at his bed, where Wolfram still slept soundly. Yuuri surprisingly, decided not to wake him, what good would it do?

So he returned to bed and lay on his back, listening to the voices until the morning light peeked through the curtain, which were strangely undamaged and his day went on as usual.

Yuuri bit back a whine when he felt a particularly cold hand trail down his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat that threatened to burst. When Wolfram was present in the bed, the voices and hands weren't so bold, they kept to his arms and legs and face. But now that he was gone, the hands grew more invasive.

But a part of him was glad too that Wolfram wasn't there. Sometimes, when they grew tired of tormenting Yuuri, they turned their attention to his blonde fiancé. If he deigned to look, he could see the faded hands playing with blonde hair, caressing a rosy cheek, cooing and whining in pleasure at the soft skin and silk nightgown. Despite their gentle touches, the underlying threat was all to clear. They did it to mock him, to keep him from resisting, forcing him to beckon their hands to return to his own body. They knew of his innate desire to protect, especially those closest to him, and they loved to exploit it.

He missed Wolfram so much. He wanted the blonde to be there next to him, even though Yuuri knew there was nothing he could do. No matter how Wolfram proclaimed his devotion to Yuuri, the dark haired king knew that his fiancé was just as powerless as he.

A harsh rumble of thunder from outside brought Yuuri's attention back to his room and to his unwanted roommates. The air in the room dropped drastically and suddenly so that the young king could see his own breath against the dark backdrop of the opposite wall. Goosebumps rose against his skin as the hands, the voices and the geists all disappeared as if blown away by a great and unfelt wind.

That only meant one thing._ It_ was here.

As if it were possible, the room grew ever darker and the clouds outside swirled and blackened. A branch that looked suspiciously like a clawed hand waved against the windowpane, desperately grabbing. Yuuri, in a moment of childlike mentality, wondered if the tree took pity on him and was trying to rescue him from the cloaked figure that stalked him throughout the day, but especially revealed his dark intentions in the dead of night.

It started out like a dark void in the corner of Yuuri's room, a place where not even the most miniscule of light could penetrate. The void grew and tightened, slowly forming the cloaked figure that followed Yuuri like a second shadow throughout his days. Yuuri never let his gaze leave the emerging shadow, not that he had a choice anyway, no matter what he tried to do, the double black could not tear his eyes from the figure as it slowly glided towards his bed.

This creature did not make noise, it didn't have a face or hands or emotion. It just watched him and ever since that first night when it had entered him, it only lurked in the shadows. Yuuri could always see it in the corner of his vision as he went about his daily routine, and night was the only time when he could look upon his tormentor directly. It crept ever closer, so slow that the mere dread it incited nearly drove the young man mad with fear.

Yuuri sunk lower under the sheets, as if the luxury linens and silk comforter would be adequate protection. He wanted to run, but It was now standing between him and the door.

It reached his side of the bed and Yuuri silently called out to Wolfram or Conrad even, to help him and take him away from It.

It loomed over him now, Its black hood hid its face –if It even had one- from the blue light of the retreating lightening storm thundering in the ever increasing distance. It didn't move, it just stood there and its head seemed to touch the ceiling from the extreme angle that Yuuri's position created.

Yuuri surprised himself when he found a tiny smidge of courage and spoke to It.

"What do you want from me?" His voice squeaked and cracked against his ears and he berated himself for sounding so –as Wolfram would put it- wimpy.

It didn't say anything, but Yuuri felt a cold and hot hand rest on his knee, burning through the covers and rendering him helpless and frozen at its mercy.

It leaned over now, its blackness consuming Yuuri and hindering his vision from the rest of the room and plunging him into total darkness.

An answer was hissed, so quietly that Yuuri almost didn't hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat and the whine that squeezed through his lips as consciousness left him.

'_I want justice.'_

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"Unbelievable," the irate prince mumbled against cold glass. "Just unbelievable."

His two day, very short and sweet, visit to his uncle's stupid estate had turned into a four days long, boring-as-hell, and twice as annoying imprisonment, thanks to the worst thunderstorm Shin Makoku had seen in nearly ten years. It had been four torturous days of non-stop rain and hail. It seemed as if someone had ripped open the sky and all chaos broke loose in the form of falling water.

He hadn't even unpacked his things yet, he refused to settle into his old room from his childhood in the chance that for a single instant, the rain would let up enough for him to throw his things over his horse and high–tail it back to Blood Pledge Castle and back to his ailing fiancé.

Wolfram huffed, causing a thick condensation to form on the glass. When he was younger, he would sit on the windowsill and draw little faces and messages in the white, foggy circle for hours. It was one of the most fun things he had done when he was a child, and it was a precious part of his childhood memories. Drawing and painting had always been therapeutic for him ever since one of his tutors suggested he take up the art to "balance his humors". Whatever that meant.

But he would find no comfort or therapy from etching little hearts and bearbees while simultaneously making a satisfying squeak noise. He only stared in consternation at his dim reflection against the swirling grey clouds and white sheets of rain that blocked out most of the courtyard and flooded the rest. Even if the rain did let up, it would still be at least a day before the roads were slightly dry enough to travel. The dirt roads leading to the capital would undoubtedly be flooded or covered in mudslides in the hillier areas, making travel hellish if not impossible.

He head-butted the window with a _thunk _and a sneer, as he alleviated his boredom by hating the poor weather. The rain was unfazed and uninterested in the blonde's silent demands for reprieve and continued its melodic pitter-patter against the glass, almost mocking the irritated occupant behind it.

The rain reminded him of Yuuri and it was no surprise. Water was Yuuri's element and interestingly enough, Wolfram believed it suited him better than if he had a contract with any of the other elements. Yuuri's personality reminded Wolfram of the nature of water, a force that could change the shape of mountains, put out any fire, ride the air and control the weather, a truly dangerous and unpredictable power, and yet, the water was the source of all life and every living thing depended on it for stability, food and protection. Wolfram had never heard of a king building a moat and filling it with dirt, air, or fire. That was just stupid. No, it was water that protected a castle's inhabitants from the enemy. Just like Yuuri did. Yuuri could go from being nurturing, kind, playful and gentle to angry, dangerous, and destructive within seconds. Like how the ocean could be beautiful and calm and just as easily turn into a maelstrom within minutes, and kill the very people it had just moments before carried across its vastness with the care of a mother.

Wolfram remembered a time when he was on a ship, it was one of the rare moments when he was not throwing up his own intestines into the sea and he was able to look out on the horizon. The sky was perfectly black with only a few tiny stars shining through the darkness, the water was perfectly smooth and still, not a single sound penetrated the calm, cool silence of the night. The water's surface was like a flawless polished mirror that created an identical image of the sky above, which made it seem as if the ship floated in space itself.

Wolfram would never forget that side of the ocean, and how he wondered for a minute what kinds of secrets that glassy sea held underneath the dark sky's reflection, how could something so tumultuous and lively be so calm and tranquil? He had felt that if he were to step out over the railing of the ship, he would be able to walk on the water like he would a polished black dance floor and not fall through into the abyss.

Yes, Yuuri was like the water. A million different aspects and traits all mixing together, despite their opposite natures, to make one single person that promised happiness and prosperity but also destruction. Yuuri was like the smooth water Wolfram had seen that night, calm and collected. Yuuri had changed from a rolling and ebbing wave of cheerfulness and energy, to a smoothed out and quiet being that hid a thousand different thoughts and feelings, an enigma.

Maybe that was why Wolfram had such a hard time understanding his fiancé. Yuuri, as emotional and outgoing as he _used_ to be, never really shared what he was really thinking. He seemed uncomfortable sharing his feelings or thoughts with others, even those close to him. He only preoccupied himself with the now, the immediate situations that called for his attention and input, but other than that, Yuuri remained silent on his personal thoughts.

Wolfram almost wished Yuuri would go back to protesting their engagement and rambling about boys not being together, because at least then Wolfram knew where he stood with him. But now, Yuuri was giving these weird signals, he didn't reject Wolfram or the engagement anymore –hell, he just announced their wedding! And yet, he didn't accept it either. There was a part of Wolfram that wanted to believe that Yuuri was falling for him, but the larger, more cynical part of him, said it was just political and nothing more, and Wolfram should follow his uncle's advice and use the marriage for his own gain.

Wolfram shook his head against the window, tiny squeaking noises cutting into his thoughts. No, he wouldn't let it come to that. Even if Yuuri never returned his feelings, it still would not be fair to him, to the both of them. Yuuri was still a good person and didn't deserve to be used like that. He deserved love and devotion as much as the next person.

'But what about you?' chirped a voice inside Wolfram's head. 'Don't you deserve better? After all, he owes it to you. So milk the marriage for all it's worth while it lasts, and then leave him. He deserves it.'

'No! No, I won't' Wolfram's thoughts shouted back. 'I'll do it right this time. I won't settle for anything less!'

'Why not?' the voice sneered. 'That's what you've been dealt in life, no? People give you what they believe you want and maybe it _is_ what you want. But it's not what you _want_, is it?'

"I want Yuuri." Wolfram breathed against the glass. "I want him more than I've wanted anything in my life. If I could have him, for just a moment, I would be happy. No politics, no engagement, no marriage, no children, no duty, just us. Just him with me ,and we're happy."

'That's why you don't get what you want,' said the voice. 'You want too much. Settle for what you can get and shut up.'

Wolfram parted his lips to retort, when the door to his room opened. He turned begrudgingly to his uncle walking in, holding something in his hands. Normally, Wolfram would fuss at his uncle for entering without knocking, but it was his estate, and Wolfram was technically a guest and his uncle's ward. Manners would not permit him such a thing.

"There you are," Waltorana said pleasantly. "I missed you at lunch. I had the maids bring you up something. Did you get it? It's your favorite."

Wolfram peered down at his feet where the now-empty plate and glass sat on a wooden tray. A maid had brought it a couple of hours ago, still steaming hot, even though she had four floors to ascend before reaching his room. She had been a little winded and sweaty.

"Yeah, I got it," he muttered. "Thanks."

His uncle gave a stiff smile. "You're welcome. Let it never be said I didn't feed you properly."

Wolfram gave his customary "humph" and went back to staring out the window. "Do you need something, Uncle?"

Waltorana sighed and sat down on one of the armchairs in his nephew's room. He used to sit on this very chair many years ago, reading to his little nephew come surrogate son. He knew his hot-headed ward was still angry over their conversation a few days ago, and the weather had not improved his temper at all. He never meant to make his nephew angry or hurt, but Wolfram needed to understand that marriage was more a business contract than it was an act of love. Such affection was a luxury only the poor could afford. This wasn't a romance novel, it was real life and Wolfram needed to understand that if he was going to survive in the world of politics.

And yet, Waltorana took pity on him. He wasn't nearly as emotionless as people thought him to be. It was because he was emotional that he had to learn to keep his feelings under strict control, lest he fall victim to another. He too, had once been in love, many times. He knew how easy it as to get caught up in the twitter-pated, high-as-clouds feelings and be as if the world existed around that single special person. But, the world didn't exist around a single person and it was time someone told his nephew that.

Which brought Waltorana to Wolfram's room, holding a little package. If Wolfram insisted on loving the demon king, he could at least get some help. A little 'leverage', to keep the threats of rivals at bay.

"I brought you something," he said. "A gift for you."

Wolfram tilted his head inquisitively. "A gift? What for?"

Waltorana sighed. "I've thought a while and I've realized that you are your mother's son and you are deeply in love with this boy. However, his feelings for you remain undetermined and that can cause undue strife when you are the Consort. So, I've brought you something to keep his Majesty's eyes from wandering."

Waltorana carefully unwrapped the brown paper and the room was filled with a spicy scent as the block of crushed leaves was revealed.

"What is that?" Wolfram asked, leaning over to get a better look.

"This is a tea made from several different leaves and dried for a few months," Waltorana explained. "They say it's some kind of love potion, but really it amplifies certain urges and emotions within a person, not create them. I bought it from the Wincott family a while ago. You know they have a talent for these things." He added acerbically.

The Bielefeld patriarch pushed the tea block into Wolfram's hesitant hands. Wolfram stared at the block for a bit, it was dark green, the size of a jewelry box and it smelled of peppermint and black pepper rolled together.

"Why are you giving me this?" The younger Bielefeld asked, looking up at his uncle with a mix of confusion and dread.

Waltorana tried to appease his nephew with a small smile. "If you ever feel that his Majesty is wandering, put a teaspoon of this in his tea and make him drink all of it. It will stifle his lust and leave him disinterested in the favors of other women and men. He will only look to you."

Wolfram handed the block back to Waltorana. "I don't need it," he said flatly.

"I'm not saying that you do." Waltorana insisted and pushed the block back to Wolfram. "I'm just saying that if your natural charms do not work or need a 'boost,' this will help you."

"I don't need a boost, Uncle!" Wolfram said. "First, you tell me to take advantage of Yuuri. Now you're saying I should slip things into his drinks? What kind of-"

"You're very beautiful," Waltorana said suddenly. "And you are used to getting what you desire. With time, there is no doubt that you can win his Majesty's affection. You already have his favor and trust which is a huge advantage. But that will only get you so far. There are plenty of beautiful people out there and they know how to use their looks for their ambition. You need to do the same. This tea will give you an edge over the competition."

"I told you, I don't want it!" Wolfram shoved the tea back into Waltorana's hands.

"Just take it!" Waltorana shoved it back. "I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need your help!" Wolfram shouted, and let the block fall to the floor with a dull thump. "I'm not some pathetic little lovesick wench, who needs a potion to get a lover! Yuuri and I will work it out together, without any assistance from you!"

"His Majesty cannot be trusted!" Waltorana shouted back. "He doesn't want you!"

His nephew froze and stared at his uncle in shock. Waltorana almost regretted saying that, but Wolfram needed to hear the truth, so that he could take the necessary steps to protect himself.

But instead of concession, Wolfram eyes narrowed as a new idea dawned on him. "This has nothing to do with Yuuri's feelings does it?" He hissed. "Or mine either. You just want to control him and bully him as usual! This is your politics again!"

"I won't deny it." Waltorana said. "But, I will not stand here and let you accuse me, while I am trying to help you. Either take the damn thing or continue wallowing about in your angst-ridden future. But don't ever come moping around here because his Majesty no longer finds you appealing!"

"Don't worry, because I won't!" Wolfram spat. "I will see to my relationship with the king and I'll get him to love me on my own!" With that, Wolfram sat down hard on the seat of the windowsill and looked out the window, arms crossed in a huff.

Waltorana stared at the back of his nephew's head for a minute, sighed heavily and pushed himself onto his feet. There was really no point in arguing with his ornery ward. If that's what Wolfram wanted then he could do it on his own.

"Be that way," He said evenly. "But keep the tea. For my sake."

The demon lord slowly walked towards the door to his nephew's room and made to leave. But right when he opened the great wooden door, he stole a glance behind him at the silent prince. For a moment, Waltorana's gaze softened when he saw Wolfram slumped against the glass, head bowed, looking so sad and tired, nothing like the vibrant blonde Waltorana knew from just a few months ago.

Yes, He had been in love too. He had also had his heart broken as well.

Waltorana sighed again, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately and turned to his nephew.

"If it is any consolation," He said slowly. "When Voltaire and I approached him about your engagement, his Majesty was unusually receptive to the idea of taking you as his husband. As a matter of fact, I expected more resistance from him, but he gave in rather quickly. I would even say,_ enthusiastically_. That might mean something."

Without another word, the Bielefeld lord exited the room. The door shut with a loud click, but it didn't muffle the frustrated sob from Waltorana's ears.

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Gwendal carefully gathered the documents into a tight stack and placed them with the other documents awaiting the king's signature. He placed his pen in the ink jar, placed the unread documents into his drawer, and locked it with an iron key was glad for the repetition of his day-to-day activities. They allowed his mind time to contemplate and be distracted for a while from the trails of court life. He reveled in locking himself in his office for hours, away from the drama, chaos and general noise that plagued his younger brothers and the boy king daily.

The wind howled against the window, causing the tightly fastened panes to shake and clatter, interrupting Gwendal's peaceful silence. He grunted as he turned around to refasten the locks on the quivering glass. Honestly, the house staff could be so sloppy sometimes.

The wind whistled as it squeezed through the tiny space between the panes as Gwendal struggled against the strong gale force to reopen and then reclose the doors properly. He grunted when icy droplets managed to splash against his face, a bolt of lightening flashed in the distance.

He had never in all his years, witnessed a storm this powerful. The sheer violence and strength of it was something that, until now, had only existed in stories. Gwendal made a mental note to have someone check in on the new shipment of goods coming by sea. His pessimism told him that the great ships carrying tons of goods worth an immense sum of money would more than likely sink to the bottom of the ocean, and for him to quickly prepare the insurance documents. Just in case.

He could just imagine waves the size of buildings, for the storm was coming off the coast and working its way into the inland, and amazingly gaining strength as it moved inward. Interestingly, the storm had stalled, and was hovering over the capital. It was absolutely not budging, despite the strong winds twirling and twisting the clouds, flinging the rain against windows, walls, and anyone dumb enough to be outside.

Like his brothers' subordinates, Gwendal managed to peek down into the courtyard to see Conrad's soldiers finally quitting and quickly moving towards the barracks. He even saw Wolfram's men, led by their second-in-command, finishing up their exercise for the day. Why they were even out there to begin with was beyond him. But he had to give his brothers credit, they kept those men in shape. As soldiers of the king's army, they had to be able to handle any kind of weather in any kind of situation. Battles were never canceled because of weather.

Though Gwendal was glad those days were behind him. He could now have a job where he got to stay mostly in-doors, nice, dry and safe from lightening and falling branches. It was truly preferable to his days as a military student, and budding captain of his own squadron.

Finally securing the windows, Gwendal returned his attention to the stack of papers on his desk. He picked up the papers and headed to the king's office.

He paused a moment when he heard a muffled thump behind the door that separated his office from the king's. That was the third time he had heard an unusual noise from the king's office. Usually, he could sometimes hear the mad scribbling of the dark teen as he tried to get through his work as soon as possible. If it was too quiet, Gwendal then knew that Yuuri had either sneaked away with the help of Conrad or fallen asleep. Gwendal leaned a little closer when he heard the sounds of two people talking behind the door. Their voices were low and muffled by the wooden door so Gwendal couldn't make out what they were saying.

Odd…He didn't recall anyone needing to visit with the king, the only other way someone could be in there was if it was Conrad or Wolfram, but Conrad was in the courtyard and Wolfram was away, so this was a very unusual occurrence. They sounded like they were having a heated discussion and his interest was piqued when after closer examination, neither of the two voices belonged to the king.

Brows furrowed, Gwendal firmly knocked on his side of the door and the voices immediately stopped.

"Your Majesty?" Gwendal called, when no one immediately answered the door. No answer. "Your Majesty!"

Feeling slightly worried, Gwendal opened the door and slowly walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of, not a group of people talking, but of a sleeping king slumped on his desk, face pressed against a freshly signed document. Gwendal paused, had he been hearing things? He could have sworn he heard two people talking.

"Your Majesty!" Gwendal walked over and gently shook the king's limp shoulders. He let out a long-suffering sigh, this had been happening a lot lately. The demon king would fall asleep at his desk within minutes of sitting down to work. If Gwendal didn't come to check on him or drop off more papers, the king would sleep through the entire day. Gwendal sighed again and shook the unresponsive young man harder.

"Your Majesty!"

Finally, the boy king stirred and looked up bleary-eyed at his chief of state. "Hmmm?...Whassit, Gwendal?" He slurred.

"You've fallen asleep again, your Majesty," Gwendal said. He looked at the pile of papers next to Yuuri. "You haven't even finished the first set I gave you. I have more here you need to take care of."

"Oh? Oh…" Yuuri weakly pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes and leaning his head into his hand. "I'm sorry, I guess I dozed off."

"Are you feeling well?" Gwendal asked, but he knew the answer was relative, Yuuri wasn't well to being with. "You've been falling asleep at your desk for the past couple of days."

"I'm sorry," Yuuri mumbled again. "I haven't been sleeping well lately. The nightmares have gotten worse. And it's hard to get comfortable since Dr. Marko put those giant mitts on my hands."

Gwendal raised his eyebrow in realization. Yes, Conrad had told him that Marko ordered Yuuri to wear these soft, fluffy mitts to keep him from injuring himself in his sleep.

"Well, maybe you should start taking that supplement Marko suggested." Gwendal said. "So you can get some decent sleep. I can't have you dozing on the job. These must get done by a certain time." To emphasis his point, Gwendal thumped the stack he had been holding in front of Yuuri. "We don't need a pile up….again."

He got the desired reaction when Yuuri grimaced at the new stack and grudgingly reached for his pen. "I'll just work through dinner then…_again_."

Gwendal quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? This will be the third time, you've missed dinner."

"Have the servants bring something up." Yuuri said dismissively, picking up one of the new documents.

Gwendal looked at him for a bit, but then grunted. "As you wish." But he didn't leave right away, instead he watched the young king work for a minute. The boy looked awful-tired, pale and mentally distant from the real world. His movements didn't hold the same fluid energy that they normally did- he was robotic and aloof, completely disengaged from the world around him. It worried the older demon, and a part of him thought that the younger man should take a few days off. He even suggested it last time he spoke with Dr. Marko. But the reedy doctor had said, quite vehemently, that keeping to a normal routine with the same tasks and duties was essential to keeping Yuuri's mind grounded to reality as he went through the mental aspect of the change. Let him wake up at the same time, regardless of sleep, let him go to sword practice, sign his papers, meet with dignitaries if needed, anything that would keep his mind preoccupied with "normal" and "healthy" behaviors and stave off the more "undesirable" tendencies.

Gwendal understood the logic behind Marko's orders, certainly if combating madness was to stay as normal as possible then yes, Yuuri should keep to a normal routine. Gwendal had met mad people before and he had witnessed their strange obsessive rituals and self-deprecating habits that were anything but normal and healthy. But at the same time, it felt as if Marko was over-looking something, something important that was being either ignored or pushed aside as insignificant.

Well, he wasn't a doctor. So maybe it was him that was missing something. Yuuri seemed to be doing better sticking to his regular schedule. It calmed the boy, at least that was what he thought, Yuuri hadn't made any mention of voices or invisible people at all today, it could be due to going about his day as he would any other.

"Is there something else you need me to do, Gwendal?" Yuuri's quiet voice drew Gwendal out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," he said and turned to leave for good this time. "Just don't push yourself. We can't have you collapsing."

"Okay, see you later."

"Goodbye." Gwendal walked out of Yuuri's office and returned to his own work that still awaited him. He silently reminded himself to start taking on more of the paperwork for the next couple of days, at least until Yuuri was well, it would be just like it was when the boy was younger, no big deal.

When the door clicked shut, Yuuri returned to staring blankly at the piece of paper in front of him. He wondered if Gwendal heard the two men who were fighting over some issue or other. Yuuri thought he had been dreaming but apparently not, judging by the way Gwendal looked slightly confused when he saw only him in the office. Yuuri didn't understand what they were saying. It was in some form of the demon language that he wasn't familiar with. He assumed it was something personal or maybe it was political. After all, this had been the king's office for decades.

Yuuri's eyes read the words on the document before him, but their meaning didn't register within his overworked and uneasy mind. He sighed. There really was no point to it. This had been the case for days; he could not bring himself to concentrate on work. His mind was filled with images and emotions that were not his own, every time he sat in his office, his mind would randomly flash an image or a feeling from some forgotten era that he would never recognize or understand, but it was as if he was there and experienced it anyway.

The thunder roared and drew Yuuri out of his musings. He let the paper drop to the desk and he placed his head on the cool surface. He was so tired. He didn't feel safe enough to sleep in his own room, he even tried sneaking into one of the empty guest rooms only to meet a new crop of voices and apparitions that reveled in the presence of their new acquaintance.

He heard the wind pound the rain against the large window behind him, and the room grew darker as the storm gathered yet again over the palace. A terrible chill tore down his spine, and Yuuri stilled in his chair. An overwhelming fear consumed him as the feeling of being watched etched into his mind.

It was back!

His chest ached as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. His lungs constricted and he rasped as the air was squeezed from inside him. He could hear the rasping breaths and the intermittent growls as the menace crept behind him.

Yuuri didn't have the courage to turn around, he didn't have the courage to run, even thought the door was right there and nothing impeded him. But he knew that running was futile, It would just follow him. No matter where he ran, no matter where he hid, It would always be there in the shadows.

His mind conjured up an image of claws lightly rasping the back of his chair, the cold breath cascading down his neck, making each hair stand on end. He broke into a cold sweat as the presence loomed above him, leaning over, brushing against the top of his head. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, crying only excited _It._

'Go away!' his mind screamed. 'Go away, go away, go away, go away, _go away_!'

He felt fingers caress his hair and trail down his neck, cupping his chin in a mockery of affection, the coldness burned into his flesh and sharp fingers stroked his cheeks. He was trembling uncontrollably now, the fingers gently ran down his back and he involuntarily arched into the touch, his head leaned back to stare at the ceiling where the face of his tormentor would be.

Every muscle of his body locked up painfully, he arched even further into the touch, mouth wide as he still struggled for air. The position created a false look of ecstasy as the hands mimicked the touch of a lover down his sides, stomach, arms and shoulders before returning to his spine and repeating the motion.

The breaths and the growls became words now and a voice like tearing metal assaulted his ear. A threat, a command, a cruel admonishment and Yuuri was lost in his fear as cold, invisible lips hissed against the sensitive shell of his ear.

'_You are my own now'_

Suddenly, the presence released its hold on his mind and body. Yuuri frantically leaped from his chair and stumbled out of the room and into the hallway. He didn't miss the grating laugh that echoed behind him as he desperately tried to escape.

Yuuri screamed.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

"Shinou! It's like hell broke loose out here!" Alphonse growled, but his voice was drowned out by the howling wind. During a blessed break in the storm where the rain had lessened to a steady fall, he ordered the rookies outside for an impromptu training session before the storm decided to pick up. They had grunted and complained, but it all came with the territory, soldiers had to be able to function in any weather.

They had been out about an hour and a half, doing drills and sparring to the best of their ability, when the storm did indeed pick up. It picked up with a _will_. One second, Alphonse had a somewhat clear view of the courtyard and then in the next second, he was blinded by a white sheet of water and could only hear the outraged cries of his subordinates as they ran for cover.

Alphonse could barely see as the wind whipped his red hair in his face, creating a wet, itchy veil. His clothes stuck to his skin, making it chafe painfully when he walked ,and they made an annoying squeak noise when he moved. It was like standing under a freezing cold waterfall fully clothed. The strength of the wind threatened to tear even his clothes off as he desperately clung to his cape. He dared to look up into the sky in sheer wonder at nature's force. It was so strange, it was calm a minute ago, but now the wind howled and the rain poured and blinded him. He squinted into the heavens, tiny droplets falling from his lashes as he watched the black and gray mass swirl and twist violently in the savage gusts.

Alphonse shuddered, both from cold and the uneasy feeling growing in his gut. This storm brought back memories, memories he would rather forget.

Turning his attention back to his subordinates, who had taken shelter under the open walkway that encircled the courtyard. They were huddled like a flock of chickens, trying to get warm from each other's body heat, but their soaked clothes made any attempts to get warm entirely futile. With a grunt, the second-in-command trudged through what seemed like a million mud puddles before he was close enough to shout over the blood-thirsty storm and be heard.

"Alright," he bellowed as hard as he could. "As you can see – or not see. I'm as blind as a bat here-anyway! The end of the world has decided to announce itself in the most devastating way possible and we'll catch our death out here in this rain. This session is over. Go home, get dry and pray to the Great One this son of a bitch clears up soon or we'll have to focus on sprouting fins and scales to survive!"

The rookies stared back at him with wide eyes. He must have made quite a sight, he mused. He was hunched over, clinging to a cape like a lifeline, hair plastered to his face hiding everything but his mouth and chin, knees and shoulders shaking in the cold. Nothing like a dignified ranking officer in the most prestigious branch of the military should look.

But the little greenhorns got their senses about them and shouted a chorus of "Yes, sir!" and quickly scampered to the barracks, still in the group huddle, to dry clothes and hot meals.

Alphonse watched them go for a bit and was interrupted by a rough cough. Oh great, now he was getting sick. So much for toughening them up.

He started to follow his men into the barracks when his hand drifted to his side and felt empty space. 'Wait,' he thought confusedly. 'Where's my-'

He looked up towards the training grounds and saw his sword, still in its sheath, resting on a bench next to where the rookies liked to spar. He usually took it off when he was working closely with the men. It was cumbersome when positioning rookies into the correct stance, and since he could just use one of theirs for a quick demonstration, he left it aside. But in their haste to get out of the rain, he had forgotten it, something he was loath to admit happened quite often. If Bielefeld weren't there to shout at him for his negligence, he would probably leave it in the yard for days.

"Shinou curse it!"

Alphonse glared indignantly at the abandoned weapon, willing it to sprout legs and come to him instead of him leaving the shelter of the walkway and getting even more wet. When the blade disobeyed his mental commands, Alphonse growled and stomped back into rainy Hell to retrieve his sword, cringing as the rain re-soaked his clothes and the chafing worsened.

He snatched up the weapon and sneered when water leaked out of the sheath. Great. Now, he would have to dry it inside and out, oil the leather of the sheath and let it dry overnight to keep it from shrinking and his sword from rusting.

'I'm a terrible role model.' He thought bemusedly as he recalled Bielefeld scolding a rookie for letting his sword and sheath get wet.

Alphonse fastened the sword to his side and turned to leave when a dark blur caught his eye. He peered closer as he walked towards the palace and saw a dark figure half running, half-stumbling along the walkway, towards the west side of the castle.

'Is that…his Majesty?' Alphonse thought as he made out the tell-tale black outfit and hair as the king ran past him and disappeared into the palace.

A foreboding feeling etched its way into Alphonse's mind as he watched the king leave. Desperation and panic were evident in his frantic movements. Alphonse immediately looked to where the king came from. It didn't seem like he was being chased and no alarm had been sounded.

Not wasting another minute, Alphonse took off after the king, sword now securely fastened to his side. He tried to ignore the squish-squish of his wet boots hitting the ground as he struggled to catch up with the young king.

He made the same right turn into the corridor that he thought the king had taken. He whined in frustration when that hallway had two more on each side that led to different wings of the immense structure. Alphonse quickly pulled from his memory a mental map of the western wide of the castle. The left went towards the servants' quarters, the kitchens, and the laundry, the right led to the dungeons, the storerooms and the armory. If he kept straight he would end up at the treasure room, the archives and the library.

As he was about to decide which direction to take, a scream drew the soldier's attention to the middle path. It was a masculine voice. The king.

He took off in the direction of the noise, picking up speed as his confidence in the king's location grew. He was nearly knocked over by a pair of retreating maids running in the opposite direction.

"What the-" He said, but the maids' ignored him and kept running behind him.

One of them, pale-faced and clearly disturbed, turned around to yell. "His Majesty's gone mad!" She shrieked and caught up with her friend.

"Where is he?" Alphonse ordered.

"To the right!" The other one yelled without even looking back, and the two of them turned a corner and disappeared into one of the dozens of servants' doorways.

Not really having nothing else to go on, Alphonse obeyed the maid's instructions and turned right, towards the treasure room and the two large portraits of the Great One and the Sage.

He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt in the middle of the great main hallway that led to the treasure room. Panting, he looked up ahead down the darkened corridor. Only a single weakly burning torch illuminated the hallway and the kneeling figure of the king.

He was up against the wall, his back was curved forward, his head hung limply between his outstretched arms, with his black hair falling like a curtain and hiding his face, his palms were flat against the stonewall. He was completely still and oblivious to Alphonse's presence.

The soldier took a few cautious steps towards the obeisant young man. He scanned his surroundings and noticed that the king was directly in front of the two portraits of Shinou and the Great Sage.

Alphonse nearly jumped out of his boots when the king suddenly convulsed against the wall. Hands still planted firmly against the wall, King Yuuri threw his head back, mouth wide in a scream, but the only noise that escaped was a disturbing creaking sound as the king's back slowly arched away from the two portraits. The king's black eyes blazed with fury up at the stoic paintings, his mouth was pulled into a vicious snarl, his teeth gnashed and bit at the air.

Alphonse stared in shock as the king's movements became more agitated. He began to jerk and sway, throwing his head from side to side, black hair whipping across his contorted features and soft growls emitting from his throat. All the while, his eyes never left the faces of the First King and Sage. His hands remained glued to the walls but now curled into claws, nails scraping against the stone.

His movements picked up speed, and it was as if he was trying to free his hands from the wall but to no avail, which only increased his anger. The king's growls grew in volume and he hissed words that Alphonse couldn't make out.

Arms shaking uncontrollably, the king's fingers pushed away from the wall as he contorted his body to bend backwards. It was like his head wanted to leave the wall, but his hands continued to grasp and stretch for it, or really the frames of the portraits. Alphonse could hear the king's spine crack painfully as his body was pulled in two directions by an unseen force. The demon remained frozen and useless as his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening in front of his very eyes. As the king continued to struggle and hiss, Alphonse took a step back as his mind summoned images of a similar situation that he had tried to erase from his memory.

Alphonse's hands of their own accord, tentatively reached for the king, shaking and unsure of what to do, but ready to act. His mouth tried to form words, but his breath was frozen in his chest as the panic within him gripped at his mind and body.

The King's head was at his ankles now, arms straight as flag poles, fingers twitched and curling in the air, his eyes were still affixed on the paintings which made them appear white because of the awkward angle, his mouth was so wide it divided his face and he let out a frustrated cry as his forehead touched the ground between his feet.

A brave puff of air allowed Alphonse to finally speak. "Y-your Majesty?" He croaked. "King Yuuri?"

King Yuuri's head bent up so fast, Alphonse nearly thought it would snap off. Sharp black eyes silenced the hardened warrior and froze him in place. Alphonse had never seen eyes like that. They were nothing like the soft, kind gaze he had seen a few days hence. Those eyes cut into Alphonse's soul and left him more vulnerable and helpless than he had ever been before.

"Your Majesty?" He whispered again and took a single step closer.

The king's lips quivered and coiled as he formed words. "S-s-s-s-s-ta-ay back!" he hissed. "St-stay back!"

King Yuuri gave a great cry as every muscle and bone in his body twisted and stiffened painfully, and then he collapsed like a rag doll against the marble floor.

Alphonse stared blankly at the still body of his king. The younger man didn't move, his limbs were flung at odd angles. His face was mask-like .

A thousand different thoughts ran through Alphonse's mind. What just happened? What was going on? He thought he should call for help, but he didn't know who, they were completely alone on the hall. There were no servants, no guards, and no one. Just them. He had no idea what to do. For the second time in his life, Alphonse was useless.

The king sobbed, immediately shaking Alphonse from his thoughts. He watched as the king came back to life, this time, his movements were lethargic and weak. His chest heaved and shook with each raspy cry that emitted from the king, as he slowly turned onto his side facing Alphonse.

He looked up at the soldier with agonized, frightened eyes. Tears staining his white cheeks, his lips trembling, sending puffs of air that flicked at the stray black strand of hair in his face. It was the saddest sight Alphonse had ever seen. He was overwhelmed with compassion for the broken man before him. He reached out his hand again and stepped closer to the king's body.

King Yuuri didn't move, only looked back up at him from the floor. New tears trickled down his face and he began to cry anew.

A shaking hand weakly reached out to Alphonse. "Please…" The king whispered desperately. "Please…..help me….help me."

Alphonse collapsed to his knees at the king's side and instinctively grabbed the cold hand and held it to his chest.

"Please….." The king said again as he drifted out of consciousness. "Don't leave me…..Don't leave me here….help me." Dark-rimmed, sunken eyes slid shut.

Alphonse gazed down at the prone form of his fallen king, his words reverberating against his mind.

"Please….help me…"

"_Please, help me, Al. Please don't leave me!"_

Eyes looking, but not quite seeing, Alphonse grasped the hand even harder as he swore to him.

"I swear I won't leave you. I won't leave you…Nikki…"

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Six everybody! What do you think?

There are two actual clues to the identity of Yuuri's tormentor in this chapter. Did you spot them?

Again, the scene between Wolfram and Waltorana was hard to write. I just wanted to portray an aspect of their relationship where Wolfram in his frustration, is tempted to act selfishly by using Yuuri's status as king and how he handles the temptation.

A super-hug to my beta SweetxSnowxDream. Thank you so much!

Please review! I need them to survive!

Love- EB


	7. Chapter 7 The Thirteenth Day Part Two

The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Your encouragement, and critiques make it possible for this story to be the best that it can be! Thank you to everyone who took the time out of his or her day to leave a review. I love ya'll!

I look forward to hearing what you have to say about this chapter. This one took a while to conceive, I'm trying to get the pacing of the story to flow smoothly. But we'll start to see some answers, and progressive action on the next up-and-coming chapters. I didn't give myself a limit to how long I wanted the story. I know how it ends, and I have the main story arc. I just didn't want to limit myself or the story prematurely.

Note: Obviously, Yuuri is older in this fic. I actually drew a pencil sketch of how he looks in THYS. I haven't uploaded it yet, because I plan on coloring it, but if you're curious as to what Yuuri looks like in my story, you can find a picture here:

(remove the spaces) http: / i251. photobucket. com/ albums/ gg307/ Elisians_Bane/ Yuuri and Wolfram Love/ YuuriMaouIcon01. jpg

Be warned, it's pretty small, but you get the idea.

Disclaimer:…..wouldn't it be more surprising if I_ said_ I owned it?

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Seven: Where I End (The Thirteenth Day part Two)

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

When the healers came with the stretcher to take the king away, Alphonse was right there. He refused, even if it inconvenienced the healers, to let go of the thin hand that grasped at his fingers painfully. He whispered words of comfort in response to the faint babbling of the fallen king, who stared blankly at the ceiling as they carried him away.

Back down the hall, turn the corner, through that god forsaken rain-soaked walkway, up three flights of stairs and another right turn to the king's bedroom, Alphonse's step never faltered. He kept up expertly with the stretcher, all the while holding that little hand like a life –line, and never letting his gaze wander from the grey pallor that was King Yuuri's pained face.

As he made true to his word, Alphonse mind kept replaying the same scene over and over again across his eyes. The king kneeling, bending, snarling, pulling, suffering right before him, attacked right before him and he could do nothing. His oaths sworn meant nothing in that moment, as they had before. An unseen enemy had its way with his master and Alphonse could not think of any way he could have fought, protected, or stopped the attack.

The king told him to stay back. Stay back from what? Himself?

Alphonse looked up when the doors to the royal bedroom were kicked open and he was made to move aside as the healers gently lowered the king onto his bed. The king had gone death white. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead and cheeks. His eyes had purple circles and his mouth quivered, forming silent pleas to those who helped him.

But that hand. That little hand, bony and cold, never lost its strength as Alphonse had to pry the fingers open so that he could get out of the way. His action brought about a pitiful whimper and grasping fingers, but Alphonse had to adhere to the healers. He sat down absently on a chair by the wall and watched blankly as the healers went about removing the king's outer clothes. Once they were done, he immediately moved the chair to sit beside the king, and took his hand again, pity and worry moved him.

They checked him for injuries, but found none. King Yuuri was unconscious now, but his face remained frozen in that pained expression. He looked so small in the huge royal bed, and frail. It struck Alphonse how the great and mighty demon king was little more than a young man, a child really if you compared his age to the rest of the court.

"What happened?" One of the healers asked suddenly.

Alphonse quickly scanned over the images of earlier, he had no idea how he could explain what he saw in a way that didn't make it seem like the king was insane, because Alphonse knew better.

"I…he," the soldier began feebly. "He…was running and I thought he was being chased, so I went after him, but-"

The sound of the door hitting the wall effectively cut off Alphonse's testimony and he looked up to see the generals and the royal advisor burst in with identical worried expressions on their faces. The advisor, Alphonse believed his name was Lord von Christ, immediately let out a horrid wail and threw himself at the king's bedside, placing his hand on the king's side and babbling incoherently.

"Gunter, get a hold of yourself!" Lord Voltaire scolded, coming to stand behind the wailing man.

"Oh, Gwendal! I can't help it! It pains me to see him suffer like this!" Lord Christ sobbed.

Alphonse remained quiet, not sure how to greet his superiors when he held the king's hand so intimately, and yet, he didn't want to let go, didn't want to see the king hurt.

The second general, Lord Weller, came to stand next his brother, but remained silent. He only stared at the sleeping king with worry and guilt, hand nervously twiddling with his sword hilt.

"What has happened?" The advisor repeated the question of earlier, looking to the healers that surrounded the king. The healers looked at each other and then at Alphonse. The generals and advisor followed their gazes and noticed Alphonse for the first time.

"Alphonse?" Lord Voltaire was the first to speak.

Alphonse stood up to bow to the lords, still holding the king's hand. "At your service, my Lord. Forgive me for not greeting you properly."

Before Alphonse could finish his apology, Voltaire waved dismissively. "It's not important. What is important is what happened and why you're here." He said the last part while he looked at their entwined hands.

"Gwendal, who is this?" Gunter asked from his position at the king's side.

Alphonse answered for him with another bow. "My name is Alphonse von Weber, I'm Lord Bielefeld's lieutenant."

Gunter blinked at him. "Ah, yes. I remember you now."

"Alphonse," Gwendal said firmly. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Alphonse hesitated. He really didn't know how to go about explaining what happened. He wasn't sure if the lords knew what was actually going on. They didn't have experience with this sort of thing. He could tell them what he saw and how he saw it, but would it make them think that the king was mad, or would they believe him at all? He had no idea.

Noticing the impatient looks he was getting, Alphonse resolved himself to telling the truth.

"I was heading inside when I saw his Majesty running into the western end of the castle," he began. "I thought he was being pursued so I ran to him, but he kept going and I didn't see anyone. I ran after him and I heard a scream."

Alphonse paused for a moment to see the lords' expressions. But they, with the exception of Lord Christ, were stony faced and waited for him to speak. Alphonse took a deep breath and continued.

"He ran to the hallway where the pictures of the Great One and the Great Sage are and he was kneeling." Alphonse paused and took a deep breath. "His Majesty was attacked," He said with as much authority as he could. "By an invisible assailant. He was struggling against something that was trying to pull him to the wall. But he couldn't escape its grip. The thing eventually gave up and he collapsed in pain. I think it was an invisible attacker."

They all stared at him like he had grown a second head, and Alphonse doubted if he should have explained it so…honestly. But he was the type to call it like he saw it, and he saw the king being nearly torn in two by some terrible, unseen creature.

No person could have done that to himself.

Lord Christ turned to Lord Voltaire and Weller. "It sounds like another fit," he whispered.

Lord Voltaire nodded. "Marko is on his way here. I just summoned him."

Alphonse froze. Marko?

A groan from the bed drew everyone's attention to where the king lay. King Yuuri was fidgeting in his sleep, eyes clenched shut and glistening in a cold sweat.

The four men immediately crowded around the bed as the king slowly regained consciousness. Bloodshot eyes cracked open slowly and wandered, unfocused, around the room before settling on the worried faces of his retainers.

"W-whhh…." Yuuri croaked, eyes squinting from the bright lights.

Lord Christ leaned into King Yuuri's view. "Your Majesty!" He cried as he placed his hand on the man's shoulders. "What has befallen you?"

Yuuri had been staring blankly at Gunter's face as he spoke, but when the advisor's hands clasped at him, the king's eyes went wide as dinner plates and he launched himself from Gunter's grip to cower in the corner of the bed with a panicked wail.

"Your Majesty?" Lord Christ actually looked hurt, but he reached out for the king again, only to have the monarch tumble off the edge. He landed with a dull thump, but was quickly on his feet and backing into the farthest corner of the room, staring at them like a hunted animal.

"Yuuri!" Lord Weller called. He slowly walked around the room towards where the king was pressing himself into the wall, as if willing the structure to absorb him.

"Yuuri," Lord Weller said again. "Calm down. It's just us. No one's going to hurt you."

Lord Weller reached out his hand to King Yuuri, but he only stared at it like it would bite him. "It's okay," Lord Weller smiled at the king. "Come here to the bed so we can look at you."

"What is going on here?"

Four heads whipped around to see Marko glide through the doors, looking most annoyed at having been disturbed from whatever he had been doing.

A cold chill ran down Alphonse's spine as he watched the doctor enter the room with that familiar smug look.

A whimper from the corner drew Marko's attention to where King Yuuri still stood. Lord Weller still had his hand extended to him, but was watching Marko saunter around the bed to flank him.

"He's having another fit," Marko stated, without looking at anyone, but the trembling man before him. "Get him on the bed, so I can examine him."

"Come on, Yuuri," Conrad finally reached out and gently grabbed the king's hand. With little effort, he guided him to at least sit on the bed.

As soon as the king was settled, Alphonse returned to his place by the king's side, never taking his eyes off Marko.

The doctor noticed this and returned the cold glare. "Do I know you?"

"I don't know," Alphonse said petulantly, forgetting the presence of his superiors. "What do you think?"

Marko stared t him for a bit. "You look familiar…" Marko muttered.

"Marko," Weller said. "Examine him." He nodded at the king, who sat in the same position Conrad had placed him in, not making a single noise or move to indicate awareness.

Marko nodded and immediately went to examining the king. Bending arms and scrutinizing legs, Marko was silent as he checked to the king for any physical injuries, all the while he made Alphonse retell the incident, who spoke with a noticeably clipped tone.

King Yuuri allowed Marko to touch him as he saw fit. He didn't fight or buck the doctor. He was like a large doll, staring into the distance while they fussed over him. Alphonse, however, was keenly ware of Marko's every move, and his every move made him all the more distrustful.

After a few minutes, Marko sat away from the king, who had slid into a lying position, and began to rummage through his bag he had brought.

"His hallucinations are getting worse, as to be expected," Marko said flatly. "I'll increase the dosage of his medicine, and prescribe a higher concentration of the narcotic. That should keep him subdued."

"Is that really necessary?" Lord Christ said worriedly. "His Majesty has hardly been able to function with the current dosage and it makes him nauseous and unwilling to eat."

Marko didn't even seem to acknowledge Lord Christ's concerns. "The change is progressing at a peculiarly fast rate, I fear. These visions are worse than before if he believes an unseen force is attacking him."

Alphonse mouth was moving before he had a chance to stop himself.

"He doesn't believe he was attacked. He _was_ attacked! I just told you!"

All eyes were on him, and the soldier almost regretted speaking out of turn. He must have been breaking at least three rules of propriety by raising his voice, even slightly, against someone of greater rank. But when he saw the mildly annoyed, condescending expression on Marko's face, he didn't feel the least bit sorry.

"Alphonse," Lord Voltaires voice was stern. "You said there was no one there in the hallway, but you and the king. What else could it be?"

"Exactly what I told you, my Lord," He said. "The king was acting like he was being attacked and-"

"The key phrase is 'acting'," Marko sniffed.

The soldier's temper rose faster than he expected. "Don't interrupt me!" He snapped, ignoring the gasps from the room at his blatant disregard for class status. "I know what I saw! I said there was an invisible assailant. His Majesty was struggling against an attacker!" He looked to the retainers for reassurance. "If you had been there, you would know what I mean! This wasn't something internal! His Majesty really was-"

"But, you also said it looked like his Majesty was fighting against himself. Being torn in two is what I believe you said," Marko stated, disdainfully.

"I _said_," Alphonse glared at the doctor. "That it looked as if he was being pulled in two directions. Like _someone_ is _pulling_ against _someone else_ trying to get _free!"_

Marko was not moved. "If he was struggling against a being, you say, then why didn't you come to his rescue? Why did you just stand there?"

Alphonse stumbled. He really had no answer for that, and it made him want to punch the smug old fart in front of him. "I-I….it was…"

Marko placed his bony hand on Alphonse's shoulder. "Because there was no one there," his voice was absolutely agitating in its mockery of soothing. "I'm sure he told you he was attacked. But in reality, this was just a hallucination - an illusion of the mind. Look at him." Marko gestured to where the king lay, facing upward, eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling. "He's incapable of determining reality from his own mind."

Alphonse jerked his shoulder away from Marko, like it burned him. "That's because he's high as a cloud on that medicine!"

"Alphonse!" Lord Voltaire barked, Alphonse immediately retreated within himself. "Calm down! Doctor Marko here specializes in this sort of thing."

"But! But, my Lord!" Alphonse said, desperately.

"We know what's wrong with his Majesty," Gwendal said. "He's going through a transformation. His human and demon blood are merging. The change is affecting him. This is to be expected." Gwendal looked down at the soldier with finality. "He was not attacked." The general groaned. "Though, this was supposed to be kept a secret from the public."

"But-"

"I remember you now." Marko said suddenly, recognition dawning on his thin face.

Alphonse turned to Marko with disgust. "As you should!"

"Weber!" Now Lord Weller admonished him. "You're not helping us by being rude!"

"A soldier with the same uniform as you was one of my patients ten years ago," Marko continued. "A young demon."

"His name was Niklas von Dietrich!" Alphonse said. "And he was more like your subject than a patient!"

"Weber!" Conrad stood up and moved between the two men. "You are obviously distressed. Go home, and rest. We will watch over the king and see to his care. Thank you for helping when you did. But, we have everything under control now."

Alphonse could only stare at his former teacher, ashamed that he had spoken so in the company of men he admired, but Marko was just so….! That _fake _doctor!

"Alphonse," Lord Weller said with cold finality. "You are excused."

He hesitated for just a moment, stealing at glance at the king, who was still a lifeless doll on the bed. He didn't want to leave him. He just couldn't leave him in the hands of that man.

"_Alphonse_." Lord Weller's voice was like ice.

"Yes, my Lord." Alphonse heard himself mutter before bowing and leaving the room, dejected and angry.

Alphonse stomped down the hall to his room, a thousand different thoughts running through his head and none of them complimented Marko's claims.

He was embarrassed at his own behavior and frustrated at how he wasn't able to properly defend himself. Granted, if he were in the opposite position, he would think himself a moron, or insane, or both.

Of all the people in the world, Alphonse never thought he would see him again, that he would even dare to show his face after what happened. The fact that he hadn't changed in appearance only made Alphonse angrier, because he remembered that smooth, cold, and arrogant tone all too well.

Instinctively, Alphonse touched his left wrist with his right hand to feel the gold chain-link bracelet that was hidden under his cuff. Touching the metal made him feel slightly better; it was like being close to the one he loved most.

It was like he had been watching the events of before, but with different people in the roles of his friends who had stood with him as he listened to the doctor prescribe stronger drugs to his beloved. Stood there while he listened to the doctor, completely ignoring what his Nikki had been trying to tell him.

"_But, Al! I really saw something! I'm not lying! Why would I lie about something like this?"_

"_He's just suffering from the side-effects of the medicine."_

"_You were dreaming, Niklas. It was all a dream."_

"_No, it wasn't! Why won't you listen to me?"_

"_Niklas. Go. To. Bed."_

Alphonse grimaced as he continued down the hall. Guilt overwhelmed every fiber of his being as he recalled that tiny, weak voice pleading with him, calling out to him for help and what did he do? Nothing. Just listened to the doctor like an idiot.

'Not anymore.' He thought adamantly. 'I won't let it happen again. Not to someone else.'

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram read the pages of the novel he was holding, but his brain wasn't even trying to comprehend the letters and words on the yellowed paper. Wolfram couldn't even remember why he had picked up the book anyway. It was some stupid adventure tale of dragons, magic amulets, princesses and the eternal fight against evil. Pure, shallow fluff, and one of his favorite books from childhood. Wolfram would always reread the book when he visited his family lands, just to relive the happiness, and carefree days of yesteryear. He always wanted to bring the book back to Blood Pledge with him to share with Greta and Yuuri, but he always forgot for some reason.

Wolfram sighed for probably the three millionth time that afternoon, and let the book drop from his fingers and onto the floor. He collapsed back onto the soft mattress of his bed, staring blankly at the red velvet canopy. He just couldn't bring himself to concentrate on anything. His mind was a mosaic of disconnected thoughts and feelings that plagued his waking moments.

He had long ago tried to rid his mind of his fiancé, over and over again, only to have images of Yuuri's face, hands, smile, everything play across his eyes, one after the other.

Wolfram let his head fall to the side, and the side of his room came into view. There, on the bedside table was the little block of 'tampered' tea, right where he had left it after his uncle's visit.

The prince mulled over his uncle's last words, the claim that Yuuri had willingly agreed to their wedding without any pressure from his uncle or brother. For a moment, Wolfram thought his uncle was just making it up. But, as he thought about it more, he couldn't help but feel that, maybe, just maybe, there was something there.

Wolfram shook his head free of those thoughts. As if. It was making a mountain out of a molehill-he was over analyzing. Yuuri wasn't a confrontational person to begin with, so him actually putting up a fight against two of the most intimidating people in the world was far-fetched.

Wolfram glared at the little tea block, if he flicked his wrist and snapped his fingers, he could incinerate the wretched thing and be done with it. After all, it was an insulting object to have in his possession. A reminder that no one believed he could win Yuuri's heart without serious help, if at all.

The sky was dark grey now as the afternoon gave way to the evening. The rain had weakened to a steady fall, instead of the violent downpour that plagued the land. At breakfast, Wolfram listened in silence as his uncle conversed with one of his advisors about a break in one of the dams in a border village that was causing terrible flooding and turning farmland into lakes.

Wolfram remembered a time when it had rained a lot and the courtyard back at the castle had flooded. He chuckled at the memory of Yuuri's reaction when they had ventured out on a whim into the yard.

"_Goodness! Wolfram, we could start a rice paddy out here!" _

The blonde laughed out loud this time at the memory. He didn't know what a rice paddy was, it was just the way Yuuri said it like it was the most astounding thing, that made it funny. The phrase 'rice paddy' was a funny thing in itself.

Wolfram yawned, and he gazed lazily outside at the rain. The sound of storms always made him really sleepy, no matter how much rest he had gotten the night before. It was a given, the drone of the water hitting the glass was like a monotone lullaby that put Wolfram out for hours.

Pale lids drifted closed over green eyes, the fist Wolfram had been making plopped open as he dozed off on his soft warm bed, the sound of the rain fading into the background.

When he opened them again, he was no longer in his room, but standing outside a beautiful villa by a lake. The sun was bright and warm against Wolfram's skin, the breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers and new leaves, and the sound of birds echoed in the distance, as a pair of rabbits flitted across the front yard.

It was a vision straight out of a storybook, and after a moment's examination, Wolfram's face lit up in recognition. It was his aunt Giselle's summer villa! A warm, fuzzy feeling welled up inside him.

'Oh, How I remember this place!' he thought in wonder. He walked up the little cobblestone pathway, stopping to examine the hundreds of flowers that lined the way, he remembered helping his "Auntie" plant these flowers as a child and her treating him to fresh homemade ice cream, which he also helped make.

His smile widened as he took in the place that held his most treasured memories. He used to always visit Aunt Giselle every summer for a month, and spend his days playing in the backyard, swimming in the pond, building forts out of fallen branches, so much fun! It was one of his goals to bring Greta and Yuuri to this place, his utopia. The ideal location for a new family, and he knew Aunt Giselle, with her children all grown, would delight in having an adorable child visit her again.

"Aunt Giselle?" Wolfram called as he opened the ornately decorated door. He paused to take a long sniff of the house. He remembered this scent! The scent of pine wood furniture, baking cookies, and fresh fruit caressed his nose.

He was answered with silence. 'Odd.' He walked into the foyer, looking back and forth for his aunt. If she wasn't outside, Aunt Giselle was always in her study that was immediately to the right of the entrance. Surely, she would have heard him.

"Aunt Giselle?" He called again. He was in the kitchen now. The familiar ceramic plates lined the shelves next to the cabinet of crystal wine glasses trimmed with gold. The wooden counter was polished so that he could see his reflection enter the upside-down version of the room. A plate of cookies rested on the counter next to a pitcher of milk.

Wolfram's favorite childhood snack.

The blonde indulged himself, and took a small cookie decorated with frosting and nuts from the plate and swallowed it in two bites. He absolutely adored frosted sugar cookies. Thanks to them, he always gained at least five pounds during his visits.

The afternoon sunlight poured in from the big windows and the open door that led to the back yard. He could see the lake shimmering in the distance, and the little boat his aunt bought for him and took him fishing in. Aunt Giselle was probably the only woman in the kingdom who regularly fished.

Something moved outside the door that caught Wolfram's eye. Forgetting his quest for his aunt, he snatched up a second cookie and walked to stand in the doorframe. As he munched on the treat, he could see the entire backyard of the villa. It looked much like the front, with a small stone path leading to the dock on the lake. Flowers lined the path and the gardens of vegetables and fruits.

The peacefulness was so distracting, so enthralling. Wolfram felt more relaxed than he had in what felt like years. Finishing up his cookie, he rubbed his hands on his breeches and looked out to the gazebo, where he noticed something moving.

He walked out into the yard to get a closer look. He was surprised when he saw someone sitting in the swing in the gazebo, rocking slowly back and forth. The gazebo was covered in rose vines, making it difficult to make out the person other than their feet dangling and the top of their head. A leg extended gracefully from the swing and Wolfram immediately recognized the shoe and the black pants.

He looked at the other man with pleased confusion. "Yuuri?" He called, his voice sounded far away for some reason.

The swing immediately stopped, but Yuuri made no move to acknowledge the other. Thinking he was playing a game, Wolfram scoffed, and stomped over to stand directly in front of his fiancé. Yuuri still didn't look up, and Wolfram placed his hands on his hips in feigned annoyance, though he was happy to see him.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram said. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

The dark man continued to stare at the lake, past the demon prince. He had his arms placed at his sides, he sat slumped slightly forward, and his eyes held a dreamy, blank look.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said again, worry etching his fine features. "What's wrong, Yuuri?"

Yuuri finally turned his attention to Wolfram. He slowly stood up from the swing and walked up to him, still dreamy and blank, water dripping from his hair and clothes.

Wolfram's eyes went wide. "Yuuri! Why are you all wet?" He placed his hands on soaked shoulders to force Yuuri to look at him. "What happened?"

Yuuri looked directly at Wolfram, his face was white, and his lips trembled. Those eyes, those eyes were like black storm clouds, and pierced Wolfram to his core.

"Wolf," Yuuri whispered brokenly. "Hold me."

The king slumped forward into surprised arms. Wolfram instinctively wrapped his arms around the shaking man, not caring that his uniform was getting wet.

Wolfram was really disturbed now. "Yuuri, you're scaring me. Please, tell me what's wrong. Why are you wet?"

"I'm sick, Wolfram," Yuuri muttered into Wolfram's shoulder. "I'm really sick."

Wolfram tightened his hold on the king. "Shh, it's alright. We'll get you some help."

It suddenly clicked in Wolfram's mind that Yuuri was completely alone. That was not right. Conrad was always off to the side, watching over his godson. He wouldn't have let Yuuri go around in wet clothes.

"Did you just come from your world?" Wolfram asked, hoping to get some kind of explanation from the disoriented man.

Yuuri shook his head as best he could with it buried in Wolfram's shoulder. Wolfram was becoming increasingly scared by Yuuri's behavior. He looked around for Conrad and the others, but to no avail. There was no one here.

"Yuuri," Wolfram whispered into black hair. "Where are Conrad, Gwendal and the rest?"

Yuuri pulled back and stared at Wolfram with cold, dark eyes. Wolfram was frozen under the piercing gaze of his fiancé, and the dread that had been building in his gut renewed its efforts when Yuuri slowly turned his head to look out onto the lake. Wolfram followed Yuuri's line of sight over the sparkling water. The sun was beginning to set over the far away mountains, casting the water in red and pink. He scanned the water's surface, while Yuuri's eyes remained steadfast. He finally caught sight of four floating objects in the water, just beyond the tiny dock.

Wolfram's blood ran cold.

"No..." He shoved Yuuri away and stumbled towards the water's edge. "No! No! No! _No!"_

He screamed in anguish as he clumsily waded into the water, arms shaking, reaching for the bodies of his loved ones. Cold fear rendered his mobility almost nonexistent as he staggered up to the first body, floating face down in the water. Conrad.

Bile rose in his throat, he reached out with a trembling hand to touch his brother's shoulder. But the body only bounced like a buoy at his touch, lifeless. Completely lifeless. Water splashed onto the cold corpse, staining the torn clothes pink. Wait, pink?

Wolfram thought he was going to vomit his own heart, when he realized that he was wading in his own brother's blood. He could see the corners of a deep gash nearly decapitating the once proud soldier, blood lazily oozing into the water, tainting it and Wolfram's pants.

Tears burned at his eyes, Wolfram looked at the other victims, and he was gone. Gwendal, and Gunter floated just a few feet away, or really, what he could only determine was them. The only positive identification was their tattered, bloody clothes. Their bodies were mangled, torn, broken, limbs missing, heads floating away from the bodies, faces contorted and frozen in fear and pain.

He reached for them, sobbing, even though he knew they were no longer with him. His fingers pulled at his eldest brother's tattered jacket. He shook the body, a feeble act commanded by his frantic mind, in desperation, for some tiny chance that his brother, his surrogate father, was still alive.

Wolfram cursed, he shouted, he cried. His voice echoed off the mountains and trees, a blood-curdling chorus of despair, of denial, of anger.

Begging, calling, pleading for them to wake, for this to be a nightmare.

Something bumped Wolfram's hip gently, rousing him momentarily from his grief only to plunge him ever deeper when he saw the wide brown eyes of his daughter. His Greta.

His screams reached a new decibel, carrying the tumultuous emotions he was feeling. His mind was blank, he couldn't think. He could only scream at the bloody corpse of his precious daughter, his love, his life.

He gathered her little body into his arms, and held her close. Mouth forming words, lungs breathing air, vocal chords making sounds, but he couldn't decipher what he said. All he could feel was pain. All he could think was pain. All he could say….

A splash, a ripple, Wolfram was no longer alone. His screams died down to sobs when a hand was placed sympathetically on his shoulder and squeezed. Yuuri was behind him, a small, empty smile on his face.

"Why?" Wolfram whispered, his throat hurt from his screams. "Why?"

Yuuri didn't say anything, but wrapped his arms around Wolfram's quaking shoulders, holding him much the same way he held their daughter. Yuuri's lips brushed against Wolfram's neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath chilled skin.

Wolfram could do nothing, except lean into the touch, craving any kind of comfort in his sorrow. His sobs continued as he looked longingly at their daughter. He froze and was filled with horror when he noticed the blood on Yuuri's hands and sleeves wrapped around him. Panic, and disbelief welled up within him.

"Please," He said, no begged. "Please, tell me you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't do this to our daughter!" He nearly screamed the last part and whipped around, glaring accusingly at his blank companion. "How could you!" He screeched. "Tell me!"

Yuuri said nothing.

"Speak, you idiot!" Wolfram shrieked.

The corners of Yuuri mouth twitched into a dark smirk. White, sharp teeth bit at red lips. Yuuri just watched him, amused.

Wolfram suddenly felt a presence behind him. He slowly turned around, still clinging to his daughter's body. A sharp gasp tore through his throat as the dark shadow emerged from underneath the water, less than a yard before him.

The shadow formed a figure in a black cloak, water and blood dripped from the fabric as it grew to stand nearly twice his height.

"They deserved it." It was Yuuri's voice behind him, but the words were spoken by the shadow. "They all deserved to die."

Wolfram felt hot breath against the back of his neck. Yuuri curled his cold hands around his pale throat.

"I will have justice."

The last thing Wolfram heard was the sound of his own neck snapping before he was plunged into the red darkness.

Lightening cackled, Wolfram sat up bolt straight on his bed. The room was pitch black from the night. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. The blonde demon's heart ached as it pounded against his ribs struggling to steady his raging mind and nerves. A nightmare.

He leaned forward with a groan, running his fingers through his air in a feeble attempt to banish the horrid images from his mind. He wiped away sticky tears from his grainy eyes as he calmed his beating heart and shallow breathing. He didn't move for a long time, he was still in the darkness and random flashes of light, convincing himself that it was all a dream, despite of the fact that he could still feel Yuuri's hands on his neck.

He was still in his uniform, splayed on top of the covers of his bed, in his room, and far away from the bloody lake.

'It was a dream. It was a dream.' He chanted to himself.

But it had felt so real! He had tasted the cookies, felt the cold water, and held Yuuri, held his _daughter._ He didn't experience the loss of the senses commonly found in dreams. He could have really been there.

He touched his neck where Yuuri had held it. It ached, and felt stiff. Wolfram shuddered at the memory. Yuuri's eyes had never looked that way, had never looked so blank, so cold, so…evil.

Wolfram nearly jumped out of his skin when a strong wind threw open the windows, banging them against the walls. Water from the outside poured in to soak the floors and window seat, the wind howled around the room and created a swirling vortex that knocked over books, sent papers flying and made the dying embers of the fire dance weakly.

Wolfram grunted as he got up from his spot on the bed to force the windows closed. He had removed his jacket before he lay down, and only had his thin white undershirt to protect him against the freezing wind. The wind grew stronger and Wolfram cursed as tiny ice drops hurled into his face, chest and arms. He might as well have been naked for the scant protection his undershirt gave him. The wind and rain were so fierce they could have had little teeth attached to each drop that bit into his skin.

He reached out to deftly catch the swinging windows and with a grunt, he slammed them shut, the wind whistling through the cracks.

The windows clicked shut, and he fastened the latch. He gave one last glance out into the blackness. The storm seemed to be moving now.

A shadow formed, a face appeared on the other side. Wolfram screamed and fell to his backside, clawing at the carpet to get as far away as possible. When he looked again, wide-eyed, and heaving, at the window the vision was gone. There was nothing there.

Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he had yet to wake from his own nightmare - a dream within a dream. But he swore he was awake and he swore that he saw Yuuri standing, floating, outside his bedroom window, a horrid grin on his face, and the head of their daughter dangling by its hair from his fingers.

Wolfram's vision went black.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Greta's yellow dress was a stark contrast to the grey mess that was outdoors. Her cheerful bouncing in front of her dark haired father was an even starker contrast to his sluggish meandering down the covered walkway that lined the courtyard. They were heading towards the west wing, where the rooms were larger, the trials of court were farther away, and where they could be father and daughter rather than King and ward.

A basket swung gaily in her hand, filled with sweets, breads, cheeses, and fruit. They certainly couldn't have lunch in the courtyard like they usually did, but they could still have it in the reception hall. The smaller ballroom had huge windows that touched the ceiling and took up the entire wall. They could create the semblance of outdoors, while staying dry. Greta had also packed her drawing supplies, and extra supplies for her father so they could sketch together, while they watched the storm.

A sharp sigh from his daughter, caused Yuuri to turn his attention to the young girl. She pouted at the gray world beyond the walkway, and leaned against the railing before flopping over in childish consternation.

"Look, Daddy Yuuri!" She whined. "It's so gross out there!"

"It is, isn't it?" Yuuri said quietly, looking out into the flooded courtyard. He joined Greta at the rail, placing his hand comfortingly on her brown curls, freshly done that morning.

"I'm tired of being indoors," she pouted. "I want to go outside, and ride my horse! I just got her, and I haven't even had the chance to ride her yet! It's not fair!"

Yuuri ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly. He didn't like being cooped up anymore than she did. He probably had less freedom, with all the treatments, check-ups, and work. But, she was such an energetic child. To keep her locked up from the outside was probably the cruelest form of punishment to her.

"It will clear up soon, Greta-chan," He said, using his own special pet name for her, and she beamed up at him. Greta got a kick out of him using phrases from his own language, and even demanded once that he teach her. Yuuri delighted in her interest, glad to not to feel like his obvious foreignness was something to hide, like the others made him believe.

He needed to spend time with her more than she could ever understand. He needed the assurance that his role, and the change, would not get in the way of him being a father. So strange, he was only eighteen, and yet he saw fatherhood as his most important role. It was certainly the role that gave him the most joy, and the most accomplishment. Spending time with Greta was the only way he could stay grounded in reality amidst the insanity that was the kinghood.

"Daddy?" Greta's voice cut into his musings. "Are you okay?"

Yuuri smiled, and continued to pat her head. "I'm fine, Greta." He said. "Just watching the rain."

Greta's little brows furrowed in concern. "Are you sure? I mean, Uncle Conrad told me you weren't feeling well. If you're tired, we can go back."

"No," He said firmly. "I need to get away. I'm fine. After all, it's been a while since we spent time together, just the two of us." He gave her a gentle hug, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. His smile widened when she nuzzled her nose into his jacket, tickling him.

"Daddy," Greta said quietly into his chest. "I love you."

Yuuri's heart melted, and with it, his fears and concerns with that tiny proclamation. He kissed the top of her head, and squeezed her tighter. "I love you, too."

The rain suddenly died down to a drizzle, and the wind changed directions, no longer blowing water at them. Yuuri noticed the tiny droplets of water in is daughter's hair, shining like crystals, weighing down the giant curls that took two hours in the dresser's chair that morning.

"We should keep moving. Your curls will fall out if we stay in the rain too long." He said as he pulled away from her.

Like most girls her age, Greta saw her hair as her most important asset. Her tiny hands went immediately to her head. "Oh, darn! Let's go, Daddy." She picked up her basket, and hurried down the walkway, leaving Yuuri in her dust.

Yuuri smiled, the first real smile he had in ages, as he watched her go. Greta never failed to make him feel better, like he wasn't a total lost cause in this crazy world he ruled.

"Your Majesty!"

Yuuri turned around to see the soldier from yesterday walking briskly down the walkway.

"Um, hello," He said, not recognizing the harried soldier.

The soldier came to a stop in front him, and gave a short bow. Yuuri noticed that his hair was dark red, and stringy with rain, and sweat. Maybe he had just come from the training grounds.

When the soldier stood up, Yuuri's memory clicked. "Alphonse?"

"At your service, your Majesty," Alphonse said with a smile. "It's good to see you up, and about."

"Ah, yes, well," Yuuri stammered. "Gwendal said I could take the afternoon off."

"Lord Voltaire tells you when you can leave?" Alphonse was looking at him funny.

"No, he just lets me know when the work is done," Yuuri explained. "I get so bogged down, that I lose track sometimes."

"Oh…"

"Is there something you needed?"

Alphonse shifted his weight to the other foot. "No," He said slowly. "I was just making sure you were all right. You had quite a day, yesterday."

Yuuri blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't remember much of what happened. He only recalled fleeing from his office, and then waking up in the infirmary surrounded by his retainers. Someone held his hand, and he thought it was Wolfram, but that couldn't be it.

"Were you," He began hesitantly. "Was that you who helped me to the infirmary?"

"Ah," It was Alphonse's turn to blush now. "Yes, I …found you in the hallway, and I alerted the generals."

"I see," Yuuri whispered. "I apologize. You weren't supposed to see that…no one is…"

Alphonse merely smiled. "There is nothing to apologize for, your Majesty. If you are ill, you are ill. There's nothing wrong with that."

Yuuri continued to look at his shoes. "I guess so. My retainers don't like it when I cause a scene. But, it should be getting better soon. My doctor, Lord Marko, says it's normal, just destructive."

"Lord Marko, huh?" Alphonse's face darkened. "Is he overseeing your care?"

Yuuri hesitated. "Ah, yes, he is."

"Does he know what you have?" Alphonse's tone was calm, and pleasant. He looked at Yuuri with sparkly hazel eyes.

"Um, yes," Yuuri said after an awkward pause. "He knows what's going on with me, and he seems to know what he's doing." Yuuri decided to leave it at that. Gwendal had told him that it was best if he kept the details of his illness a tight-lipped secret. Castle gossip was bad enough as it was, he didn't need people thinking he was insane. Even though Yuuri thought he was.

"I see," The soldier murmured, when it became apparent that Yuuri would not share any more. He looked Yuuri boldly in the eyes, disregarding for a moment, any impropriety of his next words, his eyes were determined, and pleaded with him. "Your Majesty, you don't always have to listen to what Marko says, okay? I know he's a doctor and all, but he's never had his patients' interests in mind. Ever."

Yuuri was confused. "What do you mean? He seems to know exactly what to do, which is better than before. He gave me medicine that helps me."

Alphonse looked at the ground between his boots.

"I'm just saying…" He said slowly. "I've...worked with him before, and he's not acute, when it comes to patients needs." He peeked up through his shaggy bangs, like he was skeptical of his own explanation.

Yuuri found Alphonse odd. He had never spoken directly to the soldier, even though he had seen him multiple times on the training grounds. Alphonse never had an interest in him other than as a soldier and his king, so it was strange that he would go out of his way to talk to Yuuri about his health.

He was probably just trying to be nice.

Yuuri gave his best smile to the soldier. "Well, thank you for your concern. But, I think we have it under control." He really didn't know what else he could say.

"Oh, well then…That's good, I guess." Alphonse murmured.

"If you will excuse me," Yuuri said, indicating with his head the direction Greta had gone. "I…kinda have to get to my daughter now. She's waiting."

Alphonse immediately straightened up, blushing. "O-of course! Please forgive my intrusion, your Majesty.

"It's okay," Yuuri said cheerily. "I'm really glad you were there to help me. It really means a lot to me."

"It was my honor, your Majesty." Alphonse spoke with more earnestness than was probably necessary. But, Yuuri wasn't saying anything.

Alphonse bowed and turned in one fluid motion, and set off in the direction from which he had come. He was only a few feet away from Yuuri when he suddenly paused and said, almost imperceptibly over the dull drizzle.

"Your Majesty, if you are ever in need. I will be there." Not even waiting for an answer, he was off again, and disappeared around the corner before Yuuri could really comprehend what he had said.

Yuuri stared at the empty space for a bit, and then shrugged off the weird exchange. He really needed to catch up with his daughter. No doubt, the girl had already set up in the reception hall, and was waiting impatiently for him.

He had nearly reached the entrance, when a flutter caught his eye. He looked down at one of the bushes that lined the walkway, covered in pink flowers and dark green leaves. He bent lower, and saw a large black butterfly quivering among the soaked leaves, taking shelter from the rain.

Yuuri watched it in fascination. He had never seen a butterfly this early in the spring, it was rarer still to see one when the weather was bad. This particular butterfly was a rare breed that was native to the northern areas of Shin Makoku, they never came this far south beyond the mountains of the Christ territory. The breed was aptly named the Black Royale, for its ebony wigs with silver trim, and that it was the largest breed of butterfly in Shin Makoku with a six-inch wingspan.

The creature fluttered from one perch to another, closer to Yuuri. The Black Royale's jerky movement alerted Yuuri to its injury. Its left wing was bent at the top, and the tip dangled painfully in the air. The butterfly struggled to maintain balance with its bad wing as its skinny legs clung desperately to the leaf as the rain picked up, and beat at the butterfly's meager shelter.

As if in a trance, Yuuri slowly reached out his hand to the frail little thing, the tip of his fingers brushed against its tiny feet, coaxing it to himself. The creature, amazingly, immediately stirred at the disturbance, and instinctively alighted onto his fingertips. It crawled a bit, its bad wing held at an odd angle downwards, while the other fluttered in the wind. It made its way to perch in the center of his palm, and he withdrew under the covered walkway, out of the rain, and moisture. The butterfly calmed at once, wings slowly opening, and closing as it settled in his hand.

With his free hand, he reached out to lightly run his finger along the delicate edge of its broken wing. The creature twitched, but did nothing to escape his touch. He touched its little feet, gently pushing until it shifted to the side of his palm. He curved his fingers to prevent the temptation of escape, and the butterfly complied, seemingly glad to be dry, and supposedly safe.

He continued to ghost his finger along its ebony wing. The creature quickly grew accustomed to him, and relaxed under his ministrations. He touched its antennae next, this time making it twitch again, and again he prevented its escape by curving hi fingers. He traced the edge of its good wing, before returning to the injured one. He lingered over the bent and dangling tip, feeling the butterfly recoil in pain.

Could butterflies feel pain?

He pinched the bent tip between his finger and thumb, and twisted until the tip broke free of the butterfly. The butterfly panicked in his hand, and tried to fly away, but he cruelly encased it in his fingers, effectively creating a tight cage, that prevented any movement. He took the dislodged tip in his fingers to casually examine it. He turned it over between his fingers, studying the black dust that smeared across his calloused fingertips.

The butterfly twitched, and stumbled in his hand, desperately searching for a way out. But, he only tightened his grip, which dislodged the delicate feathers on its wings, and bending its last good wing askew. He stared at it with disdainful boredom, and proceeded to rip off the remaining wing.

He tossed the wing into a puddle at his feet, as he opened his palm flat to watch the pathetic insect stumble in a circle around his hand. It staggered and tripped over the lumps, and creases of his skin, before it leaned against his thumb, trembling.

Yuuri made a sound. It wasn't a chuckle, but it was a sick show of satisfaction at his work. He reached again, and broke the tip of its good wing. It struggled. He slowly tore off the rest of the wing, and now the beautiful marvel that was the rare Black Royale was an ugly little black and brown bug that writhed in a disgusting manner in his hand.

He sneered at it. How utterly pathetic. How incredibly shallow. Nothing without its wings. Just like any other stupid, useless thing that crawled the earth.

Its antennae were next. Plucked like stems of flowers, and tossed aside, landing somewhere near the discarded wings. It was convulsing now, not even trying to escape at this point, just a black, weak thing completely at his mercy.

Just an ugly little bug now. He decided to punish it for its delicacy by popping off a leg. Now it was crippled. Death would be merciful right now. A kindness. A kindness that Yuuri didn't have.

The corners of his mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. The only indication of emotion on his face as he tormented the poor little thing.

"Daddy Yuuri!"

Yuuri's head shot up at the sound of his daughter's impatient voice from ahead of him. Greta stood in the entrance way to the west side of the palace, hands on her hips, and an indignant scowl upon her face. The basket was missing.

"Daddy!" She whined. "I was looking for you! I've already set everything up in the hall, and I got our painting stuff set up, too! I waited, like, forever!"

Yuuri smiled widely. The cold, sadistic glint in his eyes was replaced by a warm sparkle for his daughter, completely disregarding of what he had just done.

"I'm so sorry, Greta," He replied. "I got distracted. Here I come."

He turned his palm over, and watched the still living body of the butterfly tumble to the ground, and land next to its beautiful wings. He continued to smile at Greta, as his shoe crushed the dismembered body of the Black Royale, and walked to follow Greta's retreating form into the castle, leaving the corpse of an innocent creature behind to rot.

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Chapter Seven, everybody!

Wow, I actually feel like a complete jackass for writing that final scene. No actual butterflies were harmed in the making of this chapter! I do love butterflies, and the final scene made me feel really guilty.

When we think of a butterfly, what comes to mind?

Please leave a review. They make me write faster. And I'm always eager to hear what you all have to say about the story and its progression.

A big thanks to my beta SweetxSnowxDream.

You all enjoy the rest of your summer!

Ciao!- EB


	8. Chapter 8 The Seventeenth Day

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 8

Oh my god, 91 reviews? This is awesome! I wish I could thank you all individually for your reviews, but there's just too many! Thank, you, thank you, and thank you, for your time, and your encouragement, and making this story such a success!.

Also, my gravest, most sincere apologies for the long wait. I always try to update my stories at least once a month, but as you know, I am a junior in college right now, and that will always have priority over my creative writing. But, do not despair my readers, I will continue this story, and see it through to the end, it's just that updates will be slower, but this will never be one of those abandoned stories, this I swear.

As compensation for the long wait, I have extended the chapter by adding an extra scene at the end. I hope you all enjoy it!

Here's chapter 8. I hope you all enjoy! Success.

Disclaimer: I inherited a ton of money from my long lost grandmother, and bought the rights to Kyou Kara Maou, and a boatload of other animes. Expect some changes. NOT!

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Chapter Eight- Puppet –(The Seventeenth Day)

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Alphonse was in his room- his actual room. The one set aside for him on the bottom floor of the castle. One of the private rooms reserved for ranking officers in the military.

It was tiny. Just enough room for his bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, and a little hovel in the wall called a washroom, with just enough room for the bowl, and a cabinet for his toiletries.

Alphonse found it funny that the architect who designed this room did not factor in that Alphonse did indeed have a behind. Not a large one like Bielefeld, but a regular sized bottom that he had to squeeze between the doorframe of said washroom, and the washbowl. God forbid he gorge himself at dinner, and then need to ready himself for bed.

Normally, Alphonse could be found in the barracks, while less luxurious, had more space, and were at the very least, clean. But Alphonse opted for his private rooms tonight. As much as he loved getting to chat with his military friends, and the ever energetic rookies, Alphonse needed quiet this evening.

He flopped onto the twin-sized bed, previously wrinkle-free covers now bunched around his thin frame, pillows askew, and fallen to the ground. He buried his face into the one remaining pillow, basking in the scent of soap, and….smoke.

Alphonse groaned; like the pillow would smell of soap, and the outdoors, when it had been raining for weeks now. When the weather was bad, the maids would hang the laundry by the huge, roaring hearth in the kitchens, which was also where they smoked the meat. So, not only did his pillow smell of soap, and smoke, it also smelled of ….ham.

Nothing relaxes you like a deep whiff of soap, smoke, and dead, salted pig.

The redhead grudgingly rolled onto his back, to save his senses from the strong smell emanating from his allegedly clean pillow. He decided to stare at the dark, wood panels of the ceiling, scratched with graffiti, stains, and other marks from previous occupants that Alphonse thought best to not decipher their origins. His fingers played with a wrinkle in the blanket, pulling absently at the light cloth. He watched the shadows cast by the various collectibles, knick-knacks, and whatnot that lined the walls of his room. The quivering flame of the candelabra caused the dark silhouettes to dance across the ceiling boards like little pixies.

A sigh pushed past his lips, Alphonse's hand stopped its pulling, his palm tingled. He could still feel the sweaty, cold skin of King Yuuri between his fingers. It had been three days since that incident and two since he had the world's most awkward conversation ever with the king on the walkway.

What was the point of that whole exchange anyway? King Yuri probably thought he was a creep now, a gauche creep. He had never taken an outward interest in the king's health, so why should he do so now?

A tiny part of his conscious told Alphonse that his inquiries were normal. After all, he had been the one to find the king in that predicament, and alert the authorities. He should feel concern for the king the day after.

He still felt like a creep though.

A soft jingling from his side made Alphonse turn his attention to the little bracelet fastened around his wrist. The tiny charms attached to it clanked together to make that barely audible sound that still echoed through the silence of the room. He drew his wrist up to his chest, and lifted it to stand against the backdrop of the wooden ceiling. The gold charms shook with the movement, sparkling in the weak light.

It was the most expensive thing Alphonse owned. And it wasn't even really his. He had bought it, yes, after saving half of his pension for nearly half a year. He had picked out each little charm himself. But, it wasn't meant to be his.

Alphonse huffed as he physically shoved unwanted feelings, and memories into the deep recesses of his troubled mind. He roughly pulled the bracelet from his wrist, not caring that it was slightly too small, and thus left red tracks on his hand. The slight pain was clarifying as he sat up quickly. He needed a bath, a nice, hot, long bath. Water to cleanse away the sorrow, the regret, and the guilt. Better than his usual alternative-alcohol.

He kicked off his boots into a corner, and swiftly divested himself of his uniform. He redressed himself in loose brown pants, and a plain shirt. Unlike other patrons of the public baths, he refused to go to the open pools in nothing but a robe. It just made him feel too exposed. He went to his wardrobe, retrieved his basket of bathing supplies, and a towel, kicked the wardrobe door shut, and made his way to the baths.

It was late, nearly nine. The baths were their busiest before dinner, when soldiers back from training would clean themselves before the evening meal was served. That was when the baths became a playground. Splash fights, swimming contests, and general mayhem reigned between four, and six in the evening. Far from what was supposed to be a soothing soak in the hot water.

The public baths were on the second floor. Alphonse's room was on the first floor-the basement. He groaned at the thought of the approximately fifteen minute walk up, and back. But it was that or sleep in the dirt and grime from the day. He clutched his basket tight, and pushed open the door with his shoulder, intent on getting his nice, hot bath.

The glass bottles of soap and shampoo tinkled pleasantly in time with his steps as he made his way down the winding corridors, and stair wells that led to the upper floors. He huffed slightly as he ascended another set of stairs, his breaths echoing off the walls in the abandoned corridor. He bit back a yawn as the fatigue of the day decided to announce itself in the middle of his quest for hot water, and fluffy towels.

It was quiet. Most of the staff had retired for the night. This was Alphonse's favorite time of the night. Here, he could traverse the halls, and passageways of the castle, undisturbed, free to let his mind wander, not worry about returning the polite greetings of the maids, or giving any of his own. He could just go about his business without much thought, without propriety. It was nice.

The sound of heavy booted footsteps interrupted the peaceful quiet of the hall, shouts, and yells followed soon after. Alphonse looked up from his basket in time to see two guards dressed in black run across the hall, and into the next corridor. His attention was focused fully when the two guards were quickly followed by a tall man in a beige uniform.

Alphonse immediately recognized the lord Weller, and he quickly deduced their intended direction. They were heading towards the king's room.

Curiosity, and concern led Alphonse to leave his basket next to a potted plant by the wall, and take off after the two generals. Visions of the king flashed in his mind, as his soldier's training kicked in, and he expertly kept up with the four men, just enough at a distance that they were unaware of his presence. That, or they were too preoccupied to even notice that they were being followed. His heavy, even breaths, and rhythmic steps gave away his presence to anyone who deigned to listen. But, he went undetected as he followed them up a different set of stairs, and turned a corner that opened into the vast hallway where only royalty dwelled.

Even to one who had never visited the palace before, it was apparent that they had entered the royal suites of the castle. The halls suddenly became ornately decorated with priceless vases, and one-of-a-kind artwork. Luxuriously carved mounts held torches laced with incense that released a nutty, flowery smell into the halls. Not like the plain, naked walls of the lower levels where the servants lived.

Alphonse's ear picked up the sounds of an argument. Someone was yelling, while someone else was crying. As he got closer, the cries grew into wails, and the shouting became more desperate. He turned a corner and immediately backtracked to hide himself from Lord Voltaire, who was conversing sternly with a pair of black-lad soldiers -the ones that had run down the hall not a minute before.

Alphonse crouched behind the corner of the wall, his lower half effectively covered by a giant vase with a leafy plant in it. He slowly peered around the edge, and strained his hearing to catch a snippet of the conversation, praying that his auburn hair didn't catch the light of the torches, and give away his position.

They spoke in hushed, hurried tones. Their words flowing at such a speed that Alphonse could barely pick up on what was said. Their voices were drowned out by the yelling, and now sobbing, coming from inside the king's bedroom. Voltaire leaned in closer to the soldiers, muttering something very specific, and very angry to the men, who immediately recoiled at the intimidating presence that was Voltaire. One of them mustered enough courage to speak to the imposing man. Alphonse leaned in as well, straining his senses to their limit to pick up tiny fragments of the exchange.

"…just started screaming…"

"….couldn't open the door…"

"…sounded like he was being attacked…"

"…No one inside….Just his Majesty…"

"…scratches everywhere…"

Alphonse held back the gasp that pushed at his lips, and dared to peer out further from his hiding place. His knuckles were white from the iron grip he held onto the wall. He leaned so that he had to support his weight on his hands, and spread his feet further apart to steady himself.

Voltaire's back was to him, and the soldiers in black were too occupied with the general to notice a spy in their midst. They kept glancing at each other, neither one sure of how to go about explaining the absurd situation. Alphonse could tell that Voltaire was giving them his trademark glare, the one that reduced grown men to sniveling infants on the spot. Alphonse had been on the receiving end of that glare, and his heart went out in sympathy to the guards that fidgeted, and squirmed under Voltaire's gaze.

Voltaire's shoulder hunched forward, and his hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose. At least that's what Alphonse presumed. The general just stayed like that, pinching, and rubbing his nose while the muffled sobs continued, and the other voice began to plead behind the great door.

Voltaire was mumbling something under his breath. Alphonse couldn't make out what exactly he was saying, but he caught the hapless looks on the soldier's faces as they stole glances at the closed door.

Suddenly, finally, the door opened, and the hall was immediately filled with the clear sound of sobbing from inside the room, and now, Alphonse could hear garbled words falling between the cries, and the gasps. Lord Weller wearily stepped out from behind the door, looking nothing like the perfect, pristine captain Alphonse was so accustomed to seeing. His hair was disheveled, his clothes were crooked, his face was pale, and drawn. The captain looked up at his brother helplessly, dark eyes silently pleading for something Alphonse could only guess at.

Voltaire waved the guards off. "You are done here." The two soldiers immediately turned to leave, and did nothing to hide their relief at being dismissed from the horrid situation.

Voltaire turned to his brother. "How is he?" He asked, voice at a below-normal volume that Alphonse could actually hear somewhat clearly.

Weller's shoulders slumped forward as he shook his head despairingly. "I can't get near him. He's not listening to me. I don't think he even hears me. At first he acted as if he didn't know me, then he just broke down into sobs, and collapsed on his bed. I've tried talking with him. But he just doesn't comprehend anything. He just keeps babbling about nonsense."

"Well? What is he saying?" Voltaire demanded, leaning in closer.

Weller just shrugged, completely at a loss. "He starts a sentence, but then cuts himself off with another. He blames the voices- he says it's_ him_. Says_ they_ won't let him sleep. _They_ keep touching him. _It_ wants to kill him. He wants to die. Nothing he says adds up at all."

"What about his injuries?" Voltaire looked past Conrad's shoulder and into the room. The sobs were gone, replaced by a pitiful whimpering. The older demon looked as if he wanted to go in and see for himself, but fear of upsetting the king further stayed him.

Alphonse stared intently at Weller with growing dread. Injuries?

"He wouldn't let the healer near him-"

"What about Gisela?"

"She's gone out visiting relatives in Christ territory."

In a rare display of emotion, Voltaire hissed out a curse as he smacked his hand against his face -a move that Alphonse had only seen Bielefeld do. Now he knew where his captain learned it.

"Do we pay her or not?" Voltaire said through clenched teeth. "Great One, _right _when we need her!"

"Yuuri granted her leave yesterday," Conrad explained quietly. "I told him he might want to keep her around, and she even agreed. But, he insisted that she go, that he didn't need her when Marko was overseeing his care."

"And where is he?"

"He's been sent for."

"Tell him to hurry!"

"I already have."

Voltaire wearily pinched the bridge of his nose, as Weller looked on. "Tell me about the injuries. I only caught a glimpse."

"They are not…bad," Conrad said hesitantly. "Just surface scratches. They're all over his arms and legs…and his back. I don't know how he did it."

"He must have done it to himself during a nightmare," Voltaire stated. Then, he sighed heavily into his hand. "I don't know how much more of this we can take. The Aristocrats are beginning to ask questions."

Weller's eyes went wide. "How did they find out?"

"I don't think they know the whole story…yet," Gwendal crossed his arms, and stared at the floor in thought. "But they know something isn't right with the king. Those damned nobles have spies every where."

Weller's brows furrowed in worry. "What will happen if they find out the truth?" He spoke in almost a whisper.

"Not much at first. They would most likely be happy that they will have a king who is no longer a half-breed. " Voltaire's face darkened. "On the other hand, they might come to fear what he's becoming. Verschmelzungs are rare, in most cases a myth. I'm unsure of how much they know of these 'fused beings'".

Weller looked up into the dark distance of the hallway, looking for al like a man with a terrible weight on his shoulders. "It was such a huge scandal when they learned he was a half-breed. I can only imagine what they will do when they find out he's not even demon or human anymore."

"Yes," Voltaire murmured behind his hand. "We can only do our best, and hope it will turn out alright."

Weller nodded, a pensive expression played across his fine features. The two men stood in silence in the dim hallway. The dying light of the torches danced weakly across their forms as they were lost in their thoughts, and still unaware of the little spy in their midst.

Alphonse was so engrossed in their conversation that his body unconsciously moved out from behind his hiding spot. He had only a large vase, the shadows, and the generals' obliviousness to hide him. But, he really didn't care at this point. He could only think of the direness of the situation. He made it a point to stay out of the political affairs of the kingdom, and simply continue with his life as a soldier. But even he was well aware of the antagonism some of the higher-ranking nobles had against the king, and his lineage. Part of the reasoning behind Bielefeld and the king's engagement was that, at the very least, there could be a full-blooded demon as second in command, if not the king.

Weller looked up after a long moment of staring at the wall behind his brother, Voltaire noticed the younger man's movements, and met his worried gaze.

"What is it?"

"Brother," Weller said hesitantly, almost timidly. "Are you sure we're doing the right thing?"

Voltaire frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean with Yuuri, " Weller explained. "We've followed Marko's instructions carefully. We've taken the precautions to keep Yuuri from hurting himself at night. But, nothing is working. It only seems to be getting worse. Marko's treatments aren't proving effective, and if they do, it never lasts long. And prescribing Yuuri stronger and stronger drugs has left him little more than a doll, but we're made to keep him working anyway." Weller looked back at the door to the king's bedroom, which had remained silent up until now. "Are you sure Marko knows what he is doing? Does he even care?"

Voltaire stared at the door as well, his face though, was void of the conflicted emotions that played across his younger brother's.

"He's all we have right now."

Weller opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to ask another question, but he was cut off sharply by a high keening from inside the room that quickly grew into a full-blown shriek- stronger than any of the others before them.

In blurs of brown, and green, Weller, and Voltaire threw open the door, allowing the screams to echo off the hallway walls, showing for all those present a complete crescendo of utter despair, and fear. The door slammed behind them, and the horrid sounds were muffled, and then joined by two pleading voices. In between the screams a third voice, hoarse, and frantic, would join the fray, babbling in a language Alphonse had never heard of.

Completely forgetting he was supposed to remain hidden, Alphonse abandoned his spot by the corner, and gradually made his way to stand just off to the side of the door. The sounds emitting from behind the great wooden door disturbed him.

There was the sound of trashing, and yelling, and then struggling, as the two men tried to overpower the frantic king, pinning him to the bed. King Yuuri let out a horrid screech. Loud, thumping noises, something was thrown to the ground, possibly a vase, grunts from the generals as they dodged flying limbs, and sharp nails. A high keening, and then a louder thump as a body collapsed into a soft mattress, and then tortured sobs were all that remained of the chaos.

"_It's here_…." Alphonse immediately recognized the long, throaty drawl heavy with exhausted fear as his king.

"Your Majesty," Weller spoke now. "Please! There's nothing there. You were having a nightmare."

"It's here!..." The king pleaded, voice ending in a near shout.

"Hush!" Weller commanded, and this time, Alphonse could hear the barely concealed frustration and weariness in his tone. "There is nothing here."

"There is! There is!" King Yuuri's sobs were utterly heartbreaking. "Why won't you believe me?"

"What are _you _doing here?"

Alphonse nearly jumped out of his own skin as the grating voice admonished him. He swung around to face the doctor, a wide-eyed glare on his face as Marko materialized from the darkness of the hallway to stand in front of him, a disproving sneer curved his thin lips.

"Nothing," Alphonse chirped, and then he immediately wanted to slap himself for his stupidity. It was obvious he wasn't doing 'nothing'. Good thing he never went into espionage.

A long eyebrow quirked. "Really, are you?" His voice was smooth, and cold as ice, as Marko stepped further into the weak light of the torches, a glass bowl containing his supplies tinkled, echoing over the waning moans from inside the bedroom.

Alphonse noticed the contents of the bowl when the dying light twinkled off the barrel of the syringe that rested against the edge of the bowl. He paled at the sight of the long, narrow case that no doubt held a sharp needle, ready to be fastened to the syringe filled with mind numbing medicine. Clean, white cloths were tucked gently around the two objects, and a smaller, brown bottle of a clear liquid that Alphonse assumed was probably for sterilization.

"I ask you again," Marko's voice cut like a knife into Alphonse's mind. "What are you doing here?"

The soldier decided that he wouldn't be like the others, and let Marko intimidate him, even if the man made him feel small. He reminded himself that this man was responsible for letting Niklas die, and making everyone believe he was mad.

He steeled his heart, and his gaze to meet Marko's own eyes head on. "I heard a commotion while I was taking a walk. I saw Lord Voltaire, and Lord Weller rush to the king's bedroom. I'm here to make sure that no one disturbs them while they tend to the king." It wasn't a lie, but more of a modified truth.

Marko saw right through it. "Right," he drawled. He reached for the door, resting his hand on the brass handle. He paused to listen to the sounds from inside. Whatever was going on inside the king's bedroom had ended supposedly. There were no more moans, screams, or yelling, just an eerie silence that was as unnerving as the noise. Alphonse, too, strained his hearing, but he could only catch snippets that sounded like muffled voices, but could just as easily been the wind drafting through the large halls of the castle.

"Well?" Marko once again pulled Alphonse from his thoughts with condescension. "Move along now. You are no longer needed."

"If it's all the same to you, Marko," Alphonse refused to address him as 'doctor'. "I will stay here, and stand watch."

"What are you going to do?" Marko said sardonically. "There's nothing out here for you to watch for. Even if there was, what could you do about it? Fight the shadows in the night? Chase the king's nightmares away?" Marko sniffed. "Disease cannot be fought with sword, and magic, boy. It takes a little more subtlety than that."

The door handle clicked, and Marko's thin hand curled around the brass, the hinges creaked as the heavy wood was moved only by an inch.

"It's not the shadows that worry me, Marko," Alphonse's voice was just above a whisper, and yet it held a tremendous amount of contempt for the ancient man.

"Is it now?" Marko wasn't demoralized. "You'd best serve the king by staying out of the way. You're useless with your guilt, and need for penance."

Hazel eyes flashed dangerously. "What did you say?"

Marko's tone could freeze hell. "Exactly what you think I said." And he promptly slammed the door in the soldier's face.

Alphonse sputtered at the door for a few seconds before finally conjuring a response, but it did him no good. "I am not guilty, you old tart!" But, he did feel guilty, and in his guilt he felt that he had to step in, had to do something before it was too late.

He placed his hands against the cold wood, reaching out in the spirit to whatever beings existed beyond that barrier, willing himself to phase through the solid structure that mockingly blocked him from the whimpering boy inside. Slowly, his arms bent until he was leaning against the door, his forehead propped against the hard carvings. The doors were shut so tightly that he could only see a thing line of light, and only a couple of shadows that hovered just beyond. He turned his ear to the minute space. There was an exchange of words, Weller's voice, Voltaire's voice, but no king's voice.

Alphonse lurched backwards, tearing his hands from the structure as if it suddenly burned white-hot when the most bloodcurdling shriek pierced the silence like a blade. The scream was followed by shouts, things breaking, thumps, and bumps. The sounds created an accompaniment to the shrill noises that echoed down the halls.

"Leave me alone!" The king's voice was hoarse, dry, and desperate. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Pin him down!" Marko's voice rose above the racket. _"Pin him down!"_

Voltaire, and Weller must have tried to follow Marko's orders, because not a second after the command, King Yuuri let out a roar, and Alphonse heard the telltale grunts of someone taking a punch or kick to the torso.

Where once his voice held fear, and pain, it now held uncontrollable rage. "Just who the hell do you serve!" The king cried in frustration. "I am your king! I don't want to be touched. How could you! GET OUT!"

'_How could you, Alphonse!'_

The soldier backed away from the door, and the chaos inside, hand pressed to his mouth to hold back his sobs as memories flooded into his mind, mirroring exactly what was occurring before him in the present. His mind reeled, and the sounds of the outside world faded into the background as images passed by his eyes at a blinding speed, yet he saw each one clearly, too clearly.

Niklas on the bed, scratches everywhere, clothing torn, blood. The other man lying there in hysterics, no one able to get to him, not even Alphonse. Seven grown men to hold the seventy-six year old boy down, Marko's syringe, Niklas' cries, Alphonse's frustration, and harsh words to his beloved.

Niklas' look of betrayal, and hatred as Alphonse drove the needle into his skin.

"Grab his thigh! Hold it down! There!" Marko shouted in triumph, the king let loose one last wail, a thump as a limp body collapsed onto the disheveled bed. Then, silence.

Alphonse snapped from his reveries, frozen in despair. The hallway was eerily silent after the noise of earlier. The dying torch flickered meekly behind him.

Shuffling from inside, relieved sighs, the doors slowly creaked open as the three men filed out, one by one into the hall, not even acknowledging Alphonse's blatant presence before them.

Weller, and Voltaire were nearly as pale as the doctor who preceded them. They wore matching expressions of ebbing anger, and grim resign. Weller had a developing mark on his cheek that would surely become a lovely bruise in the morning. Voltaire's dark grey hair was disheveled, his eyes were narrowed to blue slits as he glared at the floor where he walked, bearing a long scratch along the left side of his jaw. Both men's uniforms were torn in places, and crooked in others, buttons were missing, threads hung from seams, contrasting sharply with the always pristine appearances that the men made.

They walked past him. It was as if he wasn't there. They stalked down the halls, into the darkness of the castle.

"My lords?" Alphonse whispered brokenly, eyes wide, and glistening.

Weller was the only one that reacted to his inquiry. He turned, face drawn, and tight, to face the young soldier. Alphonse was pinned by the dead, piercing gaze of his lord, as the man stared at him hard, as if silently scolding him for breaking the blessed silence that finally graced them.

"You saw nothing tonight." The command was quiet, cold, and uncompromising. Under the icy brown stare, Alphonse had no choice but to obey.

Not waiting for a confirmation of obedience, Weller turned, and quickly caught up with his brother, and the doctor, the three of them disappeared around the corner, leaving Alphonse alone in the hallway, with the weak cries that emanated from inside the royal bedroom.

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Wet, cold, dark, dank, vast, horrid, god forsaken.

Seven words on repeat in his mind, he walked down the stone hallway, eyes unseeing, hands feeling, feet echoing off the bare walls that dripped, and ran with the rank waters of the dungeon. Distant cries, distant echoes, distant voices, incoherent in their words, but clear in their meaning. Angry, lost, scared, and dead.

Down the stairs, even darker now, kept his hand on the wall while the other reached forward to push open a rotted wooden door. The sounds grew louder, his mind wavered, his will crumbled, but his stubbornness did not, he trudged on, feet making a strange music with the rhythmic dripping of the ceiling.

More stairs, deeper into the abyss, light doesn't go here. Nothing does, at least not willingly. Rats scurry, spiders weave, men shout ahead. He trudged on.

A light in the distance, light always prevails even in these hopeless times. The light dims, maybe not. Spoke too soon.

Where is the end?

The stairs end, the hallway split. Which way?

His feet lead him right, away from the safety of the dying torch, away from everything of virtue. Virtue had no place here.

He only walked a few paces before the hallway ended in a round room. There were no chairs, no cells, no bars, or chains. No guards –where were the guards?-no prisoners. Stacks of filthy hay lined the floors, the sources of the rancid smell.

There was a door in the center. Well, it wasn't a door. A hatchet, a hole in the floor with a crude wooden board, bolted shut. Well, it was supposed to be. He didn't know why it was unlocked. He did, and then he didn't.

Knelt down, ignored the wet stones. The water was cold as ice, and seeped into his pants. Fingers paused at the heavy, steel handle, doubtful of his mind's command. Finally they curled, they pulled, the door resisted weakly, but soon gave way after a greater effort on his part. It creaked in protest, dust, and hay fall into the dark void beneath it.

The smell greeted him first, telling him of blood, suffering, and savagery. Of despair, and betrayal, of prisoners kept until their final days. Their own hell on Earth. This was where people put other people they wish to forget.

An oubliette.

Such a pretty name for something so evil, so painful.

He leaned forward. The void whispered, or really someone in the void whispered. Faint mutterings bordering on madness, pleas, curses, and cries that strike a chord within his heart. But, not enough.

"How could they? How could she?" The voice asked him. "My brother! My brother! I did nothing wrong! I'm sorry. You left me. You were wrong, I wasn't! They were suffering! You stole their lands, the way you stole my right! The way you stole her! I loved her! I loved you! I gave my everything, my body, my soul, my mind, to you, to the kingdom, to justice!"

"Hello?" He called quietly in a voice that is not his. The voice went silent. Bad idea.

"You," the voice was mad in a different way now. "How dare you come here! What do you want now, to mock me? To look at me with that ugly, arrogant face masked with pity! Don't you dare look at me with pity? You did this to me!"

Chains rattled loudly as bare feet slapped against stone. He could tell the voice was now directly beneath him, and he immediately backed up, but didn't let go of the door, he was morbidly curious as to what the voice would say next.

Despite the proximity, the voice mumbled something just out of his hearing. He leaned forward to catch the last bit of the sentence.

"-my death will be the death of your precious kingdom!"

By the time he realized his stupidity, a white hand snaked out of the darkness. The voice was tall,…and strong. Claw-like fingers grasped his neck and pulled him in. He tried to scream, but who would hear him in this terrible place?

His knuckles were white against the handle of the door, and the stone floor beneath him. The voice was using him to pull itself out of its black home. Another hand appeared, wrapped in heavy chains, and grabbed the edge of the oubliette. A head appeared with hair black as the depth from which it came, a forehead, a face contorted in a hideous snarl, teeth yellow, and sharp.

He tried to back away, to escape, but the grip was firm, nails bit into his skin painfully, he couldn't breathe.

The voice was pale, skin white from no sun in weeks, scratches along sunken cheeks, lips cracked, and bleeding, eyes dark with hate.

"A curse upon you, and your chosen one!" The voice shrieked, and then the hand lets go.

He couldn't tear himself away fast enough. The hatchet slams shut with a loud bang. Muffled, hysterical, cackling inside, before it dies into more sobs.

Yuuri screamed himself awake. Conrad entered, then Gwendal, Marko was next with a basket of needles. He begged, they ignored. It was all a dream. But, he knew better. He fought, they won, a needle was driven into his leg, he fell asleep, and was placed back into the oubliette. This time it was he who looked up in hatred.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

It only felt like minutes of reprieve to Conrad, after he had finally laid his weary head down on the soft pillows of his bed, when the great clock tower chimed eight in the morning, signaling the beginning of another day. He groaned, and mumbled several curses unbefitting for a man of his station. Normally, Conrad would have been appalled at himself for sleeping so 'late', but he really didn't care. He wanted to sleep.

When had he finally gone to bed last night? It couldn't have been that late, it was certainly before midnight. Surely, he went to sleep at a decent hour.

He groaned again when the memories of last night returned to him. He had gone to bed at a decent hour, but he didn't fall asleep until the night gave way to the dark grey dawn. Sunlight was becoming a luxury the kingdom had not known in over two weeks. With a great heave, he lifted himself from his crumpled bed. He walked to his window to draw the curtains, and was greeted by a heavy mist that hid everything beyond the sill in whitish-grey.

Like some wind-up toy, he went about his morning routine-washed his face, shaved, brushed his bed-wild hair, grabbed a shirt, and his trousers, got dressed, picked up his scabbard, then drank some water. Same routine, same motions, same mindless activity that calmed his mind as he recalled the night before, the days before, the months before everything went to hell.

A flash of yellow caught his eye. He turned to his shelf where his few, precious possessions were kept. He was not a man of finery. He didn't have a vast amount of expensive clothes or jewels, nor did he favor expensive gifts. What lined his shelf was decades' worth of small mementos, gifts, random objects, and trinkets. One in particular caught his interest. A little yellow duck was smiling brightly up at him.

He returned the smile, and reached for the toy, lovingly picking it up into his palm. It looked up at him with beady, black eyes, orange bill grinning brightly. He recalled fondly the day the little duck was given to him by his infant king, his godson. He remembered the wide, silly grin, a single tooth gleaming in the afternoon sun. The sounds of children playing the background melted away when those sparkly eyes looked up at him with pure, innocent, joy, and the world was right.

Another object next to the duck caught his eye, a small, framed photograph, a gift from Yuuri last year. Conrad picked up the picture in his other hand, placing it side by side with the little duck. The picture was taken a little after Yuuri's seventeenth birthday. They had gone to Earth to celebrate. It was their gift to Yuuri, to let him visit his family after a year and a half of no contact whatsoever with them. When they had told Yuuri of their intent, the young man had been ecstatic, he immediately began packing, and making plans to bring Greta, Wolfram, and Conrad with him. He went out into the city and bought gifts for his parents and brother. They had left that following morning, and it was one of the best trips Conrad had ever taken with his godson. Yuuri glowed the entire time, traversing the familiar streets, districts, and neighborhoods of Tokyo, excitedly showing Greta around, who returned her father's energy tenfold, and breathing in the sights of his country. It was one of the few times Conrad had seen Yuuri truly relax, and let himself go, laugh a little louder, smile a little wider, reminiscent of his early teen years, the years when he relied on Conrad for everything.

Conrad was proud of the man his godson was growing up to be, Yuuri was taking more responsibility, focusing on his role as king, no more wild adventures, no more childish ignorance. Yuuri was no longer a boy, but a capable young man. Yes, it made Conrad proud, but it also made him a little sad, he missed the child-like energy, the bright-eyed wonderment at Shin Makoku's sights, the ideals, the optimism, everything that made Yuuri unique to their world of conflict, and politics. Yuuri breathed new life into their lives, and his personality began to influence those around him for the better.

But now it seemed as if this world was having a greater influence on the young king, than vice versa. Yuuri didn't smile as much, play as much, or laugh as much. He was calm, distant, even cold, unless he was with Greta, but everyone else was kept at careful arm's length, even him.

And now, this change had overtaken him, and what little was left of the happy, airy boy had dissipated into a hysterical, sullen waif of a man. In less than a month, he had watched his strong, energetic godson deteriorate into a sickly thing, wracked by nightmares, and hallucinations that drove him, and everyone around him insane. Images from last night entered his thoughts, wide, flat eyes glaring up at him, begging him, imploring anyone around him that he was under attack by some unseen enemy. They had search that entire room, every corner, every way of escape an attacker could have used but everything was locked tight. Yuuri was beyond reason at this point, he kicked, he hissed, he bit at anyone who dared to come near, even his own godfather. He was so animalistic that it disturbed Conrad to his core. Gnashing teeth, blank eyes, hair wild, body contorted on the bed at angles no human or demon could accomplish without serious injury.

It had been absolute hell that evening. Yuuri was so far gone into his madness that Conrad began to treat him as he would an unruly, unbroken horse in the stables, like an animal. When Marko finally arrived, and they subdued Yuuri enough to inject him with the sedative, Conrad breathed a sigh in relief, but his relief turned to guilt when black eyes turned on him, filled with hatred, and betrayal. Conrad, in that moment, had done something he swore he would never do-usurp Yuuri, and follow someone else's command over his king's. It was hard, and Conrad worried if Yuuri would remember, and seek retribution or worse.

It seemed that no matter what they did, what drugs they used, what precautions they implemented per doctor's order, Yuuri's condition just got worse or things would improve, lead them into false hope before crushing those hopes when Yuuri suffered one of his fits.

Yuuri during the day was even harder for the soldier to watch. The young man went around as if in a trance, his eyes were glazed and dull as he mechanically signed each document, his speech was slurred and barely comprehensible, he was prone to passing out in his office, in the bath, at dinner. Conrad had to assign a guard to constantly watch him lest he drown or choke. Other than that, Yuuri was reduced to a doll, lifeless, and listless, blindly following through the motions of his day, and that of anyone who directed him. He was completely cut off from the rest of the castle's inhabitants. He was like a ghost -there, but not there, and disturbing in his presence.

Conrad wished with all his strength that Wolfram would return. His brother, and Yuuri despite their differences, understood each other in a way that was different from the rest. Wolfram always knew what was going on with his fiancé, and Yuuri, surprisingly, was very astute to the blonde prince's feelings, whether or not he addressed them. The two had formed a bond over their years together that would translate perfectly into that of King, and Consort, should they ever make it to that stage. If anyone could help Yuuri, it was Wolfram. His brother would be able to break through Yuuri's haze, and help him through this change that was slowly killing him from the inside out.

Conrad was scared, something he rarely let himself be, even in the worst of times, he was scared that they were doing to wrong thing, they were suing the wrong treatment, the wrong doctor. Marko was a researcher, a doctor of a different kind, not the kind dedicated to the well-being of others. He was the kind that saw everything as a test subject, living or not. Marko may have been holding back, for the sake of his curiosity, withholding certain medications or knowledge in order to use Yuuri to further his research. The thought made Conrad's blood boil, and he had half a mind to sit that doctor down, and remind him of his place. If it meant saving his godson, then he would track down every healer in the universe, and drag them back by their hair if it meant that Yuuri would be safe. He would even go to Earth, and see if their superior technology could do something, anything to stop this from destroying their beloved king.

The sound of the front gates creaking open, and the shouts of the soldier outside his window, alerted Conrad to the arrival of a visitor. Drawn from his despairing thoughts, he furrowed his brow in confusion. They were not expecting any visitors soon. They had halted all dignitary visits for the time being stating that the king was ill with the flu. It was a weak explanation, the most insightful of the nobility knew it wasn't the entire truth, but they accepted nonetheless, and that was all they needed.

Someone knocked rapidly against Conrad's door. He gently placed the photograph back in its rightful place, next to the duck, which he gave a loving pet on the head, before he walked over, and opened the door just as a second round of banging began. The door swung open to reveal a flustered looking Yozak, standing wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Yozak, what in the wor-"

"You won't believe who just walked through the damned gates!" Yozak gasped.

"What? Who?"

"The sage," he hissed. "He's actually here, and he looks like shit."

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Conrad was torn, he didn't know if he should feel relief at the sage's late, albeit desperately needed presence, or if he should be angry that his desperately needed presence took so damn long. He sent a dozen letters, all stating the same urgency, and imploration for him to arrive, and help them save Yuuri, and keep the country afloat. The fact that they had to send a letter to being with was odd, the sage always, always showed up before anyone even thought to summon him, and he gave the perfect counsel for whatever situation was at hand. The sage made it a point to stay at least one step ahead of the rest, and keep information to himself until he pleased that others know. The sage was calm, collected, aloof, strange, and a multitude of other adjectives that added to his mystery.

Conrad raced down the steps, the castle servants were gray, and brown blurs speeding past the corners of his vision, the only thing in focus was the jerkin clad back of Yozak as he led him down to the courtyard to receive the sage. His arrival was a surprise to say the least. Even though the weather was amending, it was still dangerous to travel about the water-soaked terrain, that, and they had reached a point where they never thought the sage would even deign to show up to their troubled castle. And yet, here he was!

Conrad and Yozak pushed through the great doors of the castle, and were greeted by a thin, black-clad man standing on the second to last step before the landing, framed by the grey clouds, a horse being led away as the two men took in the sight of the sage.

Or at least, they thought it was the sage.

But on closer inspection, it was confirmed that yes, it was he who they had given up hope of contacting in the past days. The sage, his Eminence, stood before them, wavy black hair hanging limp around his face, weighed down the drizzle, and fog of the early morning. Black, almond shaped eyes peered at them from behind the circular spectacles perched at the very tip of his straight nose.

Everything about him confirmed his identity, but his demeanor was nothing like the usual Cheshire man they had come to know. The man before them was drawn, pale, and sickly. His posture held none of the dignity he possessed as the king's chief advisor. His eyes were glazed, and bloodshot like he hadn't slept in days. He regarded the two men with a mixture of trepidation, exhaustion, and dread. Nothing like the cool character they knew.

"Your Eminence?" Conrad said, forgetting in his confusion to give a formal greeting.

The sage straightened up slightly, and gave the men a mirthless smile, a ghost of what it used to be.

"Yes?" He answered, voice raspy, and droll.

"When did you get here?" Conrad asked, still not quite registering the sage's presence.

"Just now," he answered simply. "I was under the impression that you summoned me."

"Oh, right," Conrad straightened to his full height, and coughed, he regarded the sage with much more propriety this time. "Your Eminence, the king has fallen terribly ill with this transformation-"

"The change," The sage nodded. I know of it."

"Yes," Conrad conceded. "I'm afraid that it has only worsened since our last letter to you. His Majesty is completely incapacitated. He spends his time locked in his study or his room."

"I see," the other man whispered, he looked up at Conrad, and smiled a little brighter this time, but it still looked forced. "Well, why don't you take me to the king, and we'll see what I can do."

"Yes, your Eminence." Conrad and Yozak stepped aside to allow the sage to walk into the castle. Neither of them missed the way the strategist's shoulder stiffened, and his gait became hesitant when he stepped through the huge doorway. Yozak looked at his captain quizzically, but the soldier could only give an almost imperceptible shrug as he moved to follow the sage to the king's bedroom, were he assumed he still was, since Conrad forgot to fetch him for breakfast.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

The atmosphere surrounding the castle was dark, and suffocating. Gone was the cheery, busy-body-ness of the stables hands, and maids rushing to and fro completing their duties, gone was the sounds of horses neighing, waiting to be led off, groomed and fed, there were no sounds of soldiers training in the courtyards, no captains yelling orders, nothing, no sense of life at all. Even in inclement weather there was still some semblance of life to the large castle, some indication that people lived there, but not this time, there was only the dull drone of the rain, and the soft whining of the wind to greet Murata as he entered the castle. It was just him, and the two men that escorted him, stiff-backed, and pensive, there was none of Yozak's mischievous, or lid- back remarks, none of Weller's

It was overwhelming, the raw energy pouring from every window, door, and crack in the castle. It was in the wind, in the rain, in the ground, in the people, everywhere, and it was determined to suffocate everything in its path. When he entered the reception hall, Murata felt the dark gaze on him, threatening, and wary, drilling into him, trying to wheedle its way into his psyche, to drive him out. But, even though he would have gladly obliged, he couldn't have turned and run in front of Weller and Yozak, nor could he leave his suffering friend in such a way. So he steeled himself, and walked with as much grace, and control as he could muster as the darkness weighed down on him, increasing as he followed Weller into the bowels of the palace to the king's rooms.

Never. Never had he felt such raw, unbridled energy seeping into every facet of the environment such as this. Murata barely suppressed a shudder as the deep hatred, and anger assaulted him from every direction, pushing him back out to the courtyard. It was like being placed in front of a mob that was yelling and screaming at him to leave, to never come back, that he was useless, that Yuuri belonged to them now. It made it hard to breathe, hard to move, and near impossible to think.

Weller stopped in front of the king's bedroom. Murata had been so distracted by the asphyxiating power that he never realized how soon they had reached their destination. He wondered if Weller and Yozak had noticed his apprehension. They probably did, Murata's usual; barriers were kaput now, thank to nights of restless sleep, and horrid visions that lay just outside even his ability to perceive.

"His Majesty is in here," Weller murmured, and slowly opened the door with a dreadful creak.

Murata took a tentative step forward, hyper-aware of the stares he was receiving form his companions. Shoving down his apprehension, he took a second step into the room, and immediately regretted it. The minute his body entered the space beyond the threshold, he was slammed with the same dark powers only ten times as hard, it was like being hit by a tsunami, and being washed away by the sheer force. He visibly froze up, sharply inhaling gulps of poisoned air that seeped into his body, filling him with a maddening sense of foreboding.

But, when he finally opened his eyes, and his mind focused on the content of the room, he saw that it looked perfectly normal. There was no terrible entity beyond the door, just a normal looking study, with books, papers, and various knick-knacks scattered about, evidence of the administrative work that went into running a kingdom. The curtains were pulled open, letting the cold, gray light of the day, casting the room into a pallid hue.

"Murata?" A weak voice inquired from behind the desk.

The man in question looked up towards the back of the room, where the king's desk sat, and behind it the large armchair that was turned to face outside the window, hiding the room's sole occupant, and the owner of the voice that called to him.

"Shibuya," he answered just as quietly, struggling to breathe against the dark energy that was determined to shove him out of the room, and out of the castle altogether.

At the sound of his surname, Shibuya slowly stood up from his seat, his silhouette was dark against the pale gray sky behind him. Inquisitive eyes lit up when they focused on his long-time friend and confidante. Pale lips slid into a cheerful smile as he navigated around the desk, arms outstretched, to embrace his friend.

"God!" He said breathlessly as he pulled Murata in for a hug. "I've' waited for you for so long! Where have you been?" He hugged Murata, relief, and happiness flowing through every facet of his being.

Murata couldn't breathe. The force encased Murata, suffocating him filling him with fear, dread, anger, hate, malice, every negative feeling known to him as it shoved into his body, and mind, erasing his thoughts, replacing the with the instinct to shove the other man away and run.

He tried to play it off, but he couldn't stop his hands from harshly gripping the other man's shoulders and nearly pushing him backwards. If he hadn't been holding on so hard, he surely would have knocked the unaware king to the floor. His meticulously crafted mask cracked just a little bit as doe eyes stared at him with a mix of confusion, and hurt.

"Murata," Shibuya said, head tilted worriedly. "What's wrong?" 

Murata forced his body to relax into its normal, all-knowing stance. "Nothing at all, Shibuya," He replied smoothly.

Shibuya looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure? You're looking at me like I'm a ghost or something." He followed his sentence with a light chuckle, but to Murata, it had a sharp edge to it.

Not to be deterred, Murata half-smiled back. "You are looking a little pale."

The young king merely chuckled again, nervously lacing his fingers together over his abdomen, looking all too proper for the formerly laid-back young man. "Yes…well," He whispered, eyes darting to the side meekly. "I've been under the weather as of late, as I'm sure Gwendal's informed you, what with the letters he sent you, and all." Shibuya kept his voice light, but Murata could hear the slight vexation in his tone when he spoke of his chief of state. He looked at the spectacled boy with glassy, soft eyes that barely betrayed Shibuya's annoyance at the lack of Murata's presence, especially during a time of need.

Murata did fell a twinge of guilt at his friend's plight. He certainly knew that he was going against protocol by ignoring the letters they sent, but as long as they were signed by the chief of state and not the king himself, he could get away with his negligence. The past few days had been difficult for the sage, he had been plagued by random, half-formed visions that meant nothing as far as he could tell, though he was wise enough to know better, feelings of foreboding followed him wherever he went in the temple and overpowered his dreams, giving him quick snapshots of various images, and faces from his past that were both familiar, and strange to him. These dreams left him tired, and entirely out of his game during the day. They also brought back snippets of memories, memories laced with a guilt that he would rather forget.

"I'm sorry, Shibuya," He said. "I haven't been feeling well." It was true.

"Oh, I'm sorry too, then," Shibuya nodded his head sympathetically. "Here," He gestured towards the guest chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Murata slowly moved to sit in the luxuriously upholstered chair as Shibuya opened the door and poked his head out to speak to Weller, who stood vigil outside. Murata looked back in time to see the solider visibly stiffen when Shibuya looked at him with those owl eyes. But, if he noticed his godfather's discomfort, he didn't say anything. "Bring us some tea, please." He instructed sweetly, gently shut the door, and took his own seat behind the large desk.

Murata took the opportunity to examine his friend's condition. The other man in the chair before was nothing like the vibrant, slightly eccentric boy he had known for four years. Shibuya seemed to be shrinking into his clothes, indicating his drastic weight loss, the cloth hung like it was thrown over a wood figure and not a living human, his skin was very pale, almost translucent, his hair was frazzled, and dull, he looked a mess to put it lightly. He looked up at Murata with drug-glazed, eyes, lips pressed into a thin line as an awkward silence overtook the room.

The dark energy that had so viciously pushed against him had now retreated , floating just outside room, watching, waiting for Murata to do something. It was almost challenging him, mocking him to do anything to stand against it. It permeated every facet of their space. It weaved, and twisted through the furniture, the wilted plants, the books, _them_, -everything, looking on with glee at the two helpless men.

"So," Murata began casually, more to alleviate the silence, and ignore the laughing presence than anything else. "What's going on?"

At first Shibuya stared at him for a few seconds with those disturbingly dilated pupils, and for a moment it was like someone was watching Murata through Shibuya's abyss-like gaze, drawing him in, and repulsing him at the same time. Shibuya's gaze intensified, pinning Murata against the back of his chair. Murata returned the gaze, but he continued to scan over the other man's figure, looking at anything but those eyes. This was so unlike the sage, usually he could withstand the most cold of glares, the most scathing, but this was like nothing he had ever experienced before, a gaze as piercing as his own, but without the aid of spectacles to soften the blow.

Well, he had, it had just been several centuries since.

Shibuya did a wonderful impression of Voltaire's signature brow-arched-in-patronization. "Really?" he said dryly. "You're asking me that?"

Murata acted unfazed. "Yeah, why not?"

Shibuya sighed, and was just about to respond when a servant opened the door bearing the tea they had asked for. Shibuya absently waved the maid in, not once taking his eyes off of Murata or changing his sardonic expression. Once the tray was laid down, and the servant departed, Shibuya fixed his tea quickly, sitting back in his chair as he watched Murata finish fixing his own with a dreamy look in his face.

"Because, Gwendal sent like, a letter a day to you, and you never bothered to show until now, after we needed you the most." Shibuya said, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"I'm sorry, Shibuya," He answered. "Like I said, I've been occupied."

"With what?"

"It's not important."

"Yes, it is."

"Not really."

"It's important because I said it was!" Shibuya leaned over the desk, eyes narrowing dangerously at the sage. Murata picked up on the sudden burst of wind that rattled the windows behind them. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Murata had to think a moment, usually Shibuya would pout, and complain about not being kept in the loop, he would never have sad something anywhere near authoritarian such as that, or asserted his higher rank. 

After a tense few seconds, Shibuya suddenly relented, sitting back in his chair, but doing nothing to start a conversation with his friend.

It was then that Murata noticed the thin gold chain on Shibuya's wrist. It sparkled in sharp contrast to the black of Shibuya's uniform, chinking against the side of the teacup with his movements.

"Is that an engagement bracelet?" Murata inquired, eager for a distraction.

Shibuya barely glanced at the little bracelet on his right wrist. He frowned slightly at the other man, and his mouth twitched as if he was about to call him out, but he seemed to give up, and instead took the bait, casually shrugging his shoulder.

"Yeah, it is," He said quietly. "We don't get rings until the actual wedding, but you know that."

Murata nodded. "Nice. So, how are you feeling about this? It's a pretty big step."

"Yeah," Shibuya sighed, staring into his teacup.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You don't seem very happy."

"I am," Shibuya whispered. "At least I should be."

"You should be?"

Another shrug. "I haven't been able to feel anything lately. Not happiness, not joy, or even dread. I'm just…here, minding my business."

"The change," Murata breathed, and suddenly he felt the presence perk up, and move in closer to where they sat. He tried, and succeeded to ignore it as Shibuya answered him.

"Yes, you know about it?"

"I did read the letters."

"Of course."

"Tell me about the change."

Shibuya didn't need further encouragement. He immediately launched into an entire narrative of the past two weeks, his suffering, his visions, Marko, the weather, anything and everything that came to his mind, he relayed to the patient ears of his friend. As he continued with his story, he didn't notice how Murata's face was becoming slightly pale as his story mirrored almost exactly, another one he had known from many years before, one that had haunted him his entire life. As Shibuya continued speaking, the presence grew to its former suffocating strength, bearing down on them, as Shibuya's story quickly became a rant, his voice becoming louder, harder, angrier, the hairs framing his face seemed to lift in agitation as he glared into his tea cup, hands white from the strength of his fingers curling around the resilient porcelain.

His aura darkened, the energy swirled about the room, flittering about before settling around the young king before him. Shibuya's own energy seeped out of his body, and mingled with the foreign one, touching, then mixing with it, reeling it in, refusing it, and accepting it, all at the same time, like clouds being smashed together by the wind, bending, and merging easily. Murata realized with horror the dark aura was both coming from, and coming into Shibuya, and that the blue magic of the king was being pushed out, and forced to connect with the dark energy that remained outside. As Shibuya continued talk, his emotions rising, the energies reacted, pushing against each other, pushing against him, and he couldn't breathe again.

"-ta? Murata?" Shibuya's sharp voice cut through the air, brining the sage's eyes back into focus, and dissipating the mingling energies in the room.

"Uh, yeah, Shibuya?" He said hesitantly under the accusatory glare of the other man.

"Were you even listening?" Shibuya hissed, setting down his now empty cup harshly.

Murata averted his gaze for a bit, noticing that his own tea had gone cold. "Yes, I was listening," Well, he listened enough to get the gist of what Yuuri was explaining. He already knew what was going on with him, he had seen it before, and he didn't really need to listen hard, unless Shibuya happened to ask him about specific details.

Shibuya looked at him for a bit, and then decided to just continue with his story. "I don't know what's going on. They keep telling me it's in my head, but I can't help but feel like it's something more. I feel like I'm being watched all the time, and to top things off, I got this stupid wedding to plan, and everyone keeps asking me 'are you sure?' If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have announced it in front of everybody!"

"Many people have married when they weren't sure of their feelings," Murata pointed out. "And they often end up miserable for it."

Shibuya rolled his eyes. "This is politics, Murata. Everyone's miserable about something. Besides, since when did they care about my feelings?"

That question threw Murata off a bit. "What are you talking about, Shibuya? Everyone here cares a lot about your feelings." He answered lightly. "Wolfram the most."

Shibuya shot him a dark look. "He's the worst!" He growled. "Always playing the pity card, always whining, and bitching about something or other. He cares as long as it serves his purposes, but it's just for attention. It's always for attention."

"You know he's not like that anymore," Murata said gently, trying to calm the other man. "He has been by your side more so than anyone, he-"

"Loves me," Shibuya sneered. "Of _course_ he does. My whole life here has been about the engagement, and his feelings. It's like I've been dragged into this cliché, sappy story of unrequited love, where I'm automatically the bad guy, because how_ dare_ I not be totally in love with this beautiful little pretty boy with the nasty temper." Shibuya clasped his hands together, and spoke in an irritating soprano. "Oh, poor Wolfram! That king Yuuri is so mean! Always flirting with those pretty court ladies, when he has Wolfram. Wolfram is so pretty with his golden hair like the sun, and his passionate green orbs filled with such love, and devotion for his Majesty!" He batted his eyes for good measure, and then reverted back to his previous tone. "It makes me sick to hear it everyday! And I know that Gwendal and Conrad resent me because I had the audacity to say no to their precious baby brother! I'm always, _always _the bad guy!"

Murata could only blink at Shibuya's outburst. The energy was moving at a much faster pace, circling the other man, drawing closer and closer, pushing in Shibuya's own power until it disappeared inside him completely, and only the dark remained. The closer the dark got, the more agitated, and vicious Shibuya's words became, complaining about his fiancé.

"I'm not allowed to converse with women, but for some reason it's perfectly okay if he ogles his soldiers everyday in front of everyone! He can dance, and talk with the court ladies all he wants, but the minute I so much as breathe in their direction, he's on my ass like I just made out with someone on the dance floor!"

"Shibuya!" Murata interjected, trying to calm the ludicrous rant. "Shibuya!"

"What?" Shibuya looked at him as if he had forgotten someone else was in the room.

"Calm down, okay?" Murata scolded.

Instantly, Shibuya deflated, slouching back into his seat, and running his hand through messy hair. "Sorry," He muttered.

"It's fine." The darkness was subsiding now, and Shibuya's aura was tentatively seeping out into the air.

Shibuya suddenly grimaced, and let out a weak sob. "I-I guess I'm just so frustrated! I want answers. I want someone to actually listen to me for one minute! I don't want to get married! I-I'm scared Murata. I really think this change is going to kill me!" He buried his hands as he leaned against the desktop.

"Hey," Murata cooed, placing a comforting hand on a shaking shoulder. "It's alright to be scared. This is something no one's ever seen before."

"I feel like I'm on my own, you know?" He cried. "The only other person who has gone through the change lives in the middle of nowhere! I have no way of-oh, damn!" Shibuya hissed, and clutched at the fabric of his shirt right above his heart.

"What is it, Shibuya?" Murata stood up to move around the desk, and rasped at Shibuya's shoulder to steady him.

The young king didn't answer, but clung with his free hand to the edge of the desk, heaving, and coughing as he doubled over, and feel to his knees.

"Shibuya!"

"It-it's another fit," He rasped. "This happens sometimes-ah!" Shibuya dissolved into a series of rattling coughs, rocking up against the side of the desk with each hack.

"I'm calling for help," Murata stood to yell at the door, but was yanked back down by a clammy hand. "Shibuya, what-"

"Don't," He wheezed. "It…will pass...just hang on."

"Shibuya, don't be stupid. You need-"

"You can't help me," Shibuya looked him dead in the eyes, the glare sent chill down the other man's spine. "No one can."

Murata tried to stand again, but was stopped when Shibuya's hands lashed out and caught him by his wrists, squeezing them painfully.

"Shibuya, stop! That hurt's!" Murata tried, and failed, to keep the alarm from his voice, when the dark energy came back full force, clouding Shibuya's eyes with malice.

"You can't save him." Shibuya growled, in a voice two octaves deeper than it should be.

With amazing strength, Shibuya stood up from his crouch, dragging Murata with him, and swiftly pinning the sage to the wall, books, and papers fell around them, fluttering noisily to the ground as Shibuya's hands slid up his arms, and clasped around his soft neck.

"Sh-Shibuya!" Murata choked, half from lack of air, and half from being overtaken by the miasma that emanated from the king.

Shibuya didn't answer, because it was no longer the kind-hearted, disillusioned king that Murata had come to know, and care for. No, it was something else, a sinister other that glared at him with absolute hatred through Shibuya's wide eyes.

_"Du kannst ihn nicht retten! Er gehört jetzt mir! Sag deinem Einzigen  
Allmächtigen König, dass er mein ist!__" _The thing inside his friend spat in his face.

"Oh my god," Murata whispered. "It's_ you_!"

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Chapter Eight everyone!

I truly hope that you all enjoyed this installment. There are quite a few hints in this chapter, and the answers will come later. I hate for you all to think I'm just stringing you along, but I must withhold for optimum effect! Chapter Nine will feature Wolfram, and we'll hear more about the other Verschmelzung too, Yuuri's transformation will reach its breaking point, Alphonse will start a friendship with our troubled king, and we'll learn more about who this Niklas was!

Please, do review, your input means a lot to me as it lets me know what's working and what isn't

A giant thank you to my beta SweetxSnowxDream, you rock!

*translation: _You cannot save him! He is now mine! Tell your true king almighty that he is mine!_ *

Please note that I do not speak a lick of German, so I apologize to any German-speakers for inaccuracies, I used Google Translate because somebody told me it was very good, but I wouldn't be able to judge. If you know German well, I would love it if you could help me out, since I will most likely use it again later.


	9. Chapter 9 The Seventeenth Day Part Two

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially to those of you who have written multiple reviews for this story. I pray that my limited skills will be able to do justice the love, and encouragement you all have given me as I write one of the longest, and most complicated fics I have ever composed. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I've just taken massive creative liberties. :P

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya – Chapter Nine: Puppeteer: The Nineteenth Day Part Two

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"The sage has arrived, your Excellency."

Gwendal let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His face was in its usual stony mask, but inside he was rejoicing at the news. Finally, the sage was here and soon, they would have their answers. Their bumbling medical treatments courtesy of Marko had yielded nothing, and they were in great need of someone who would most likely have dealt with this before. Gwendal was at his wits' end, trying to see to Yuuri's care, and run the kingdom.

"Very well, you may go," He said to the pageboy that stood in the doorway. The boy gave a curt bow and quickly left the general's presence. Gwendal started to push the various papers and documents aside for later, briefly scanning their contents as he went, there was really no need to read them in detail yet, they all said more or less the same thing.

Most of them were documents of the legal kind-deeds, formal requests, land tenures, property disputes, the mundane and the necessary. Then there were those that were political correspondence,-alliance requests from small countries on the outskirts of the continent, legal disputes, and the like. The final documents, and these were the worst, were the intrusive from the Aristocrats. Some of them were just generic inquiries to the king's health, others asked more specific questions, like why there was no official statement from the castle concerning the king's physical well-being, usually in time of ill health the king would send out a notice to the nobles to quell any misgivings, but there was none and they wanted to know why.

Normally, Gwendal would answer them, normally, he would write some equally generic reply to their questions. But some of them disturbed them with the specificity of their questions, especially those from Bielefeld. Gwendal had no idea what his little brother had told his uncle, but Bielefeld's words informed Gwendal that their attempts to keep Yuuri's waning mental state secret were failing. Bielefeld spoke of his nephew's nightmares, his nonsensical ramblings in the dead of night that his servants reported him, the stories, and the rumors, rumors of a consuming madness that had befallen their young king.

Bielefeld, and the others would have to be dealt with soon, but now, Gwendal needed to speak with the sage, their last vestiges of sanity were relying on the sage's precious counsel, the only one who could really help them.

A soft call beckoned his attention to the door. Just inside his office stood his little adopted niece. She looked at him with wide, purple eyes, a small thing dressed in bright yellow, a spark of light against the grey walls. Black lace lined the hems of her sleeves and skirt, a message to all that she was the king's most favored ward.

"Uncle Gwendal?" her tiny voice said as she looked up at him through dark lashes.

There was something about the tone of her voice, something about the way she looked so lost, and forgotten, that made Gwendal drop the papers he was holding roughly onto his desk, and guided him around the great desk to stand in front of her, bending over slightly to look the petite girl in the eye. Greta, while most cowered in fear of the Chief, managed to melt his will on the spot, bringing out his rarely shown nurturing side, a side that only her blonde father had ever managed to find.

"What is it, Greta?" He asked, using his hand to gently tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

She seemed to struggle with her words for a moment, staring at the bookshelves, instead of at her uncle's concerned face. Her mouth pulled into a thin line. Eyes squinted in thought, she found her voice.

"When's Papa Wolfram coming back?" She asked.

"I don't know," Gwendal answered. "You know that the weather has made the roads unfit for travel. Wolfram will be back as soon as it is safe."

"I want him back now," She said, voice cracking. "I want him to come back and make Daddy better." Tears welled up in her eyes, and quickly spilled over round cheeks, giving in to her emotion, she fell forward into Gwendal's arms, sniffling and clutching at the fabric of his uniform as tiny sobs shook her thin body against him.

"Greta, Greta," Gwendal soothed, rubbing her back in small circles. "Please don't cry. You have to be strong for your fathers. His Majesty is very sick and-"

"But why?" She cried, pushing back to look at her uncle. "Why is he sick? What's wrong with him? No one will tell me, not the maids, not Uncle Conrad or Yozak, not anyone! I haven't spoken to any of you in days. I haven't even seen Daddy in forever! You all treat me like I'm a stupid little kid, or you ignore me altogether! I wake up alone, I eat dinner alone, I play alone! I'm always alone!" She ended her rant in a near shout, bunching up the cloth of his jacket on her tiny fists, shaking him as she spoke of her plight.

Gwendal bit back the wave of guilt swarming his insides, he pulled her close to him, cradling her like an infant against his breast, shushing and cooing as she continued to let the tears fall, staining his clothes. Gwendal felt terrible, in their preoccupation with Yuuri's condition, he, Conrad and Gunter had brushed aside many things, including the care of their little niece, leaving her to her nursemaid, and her tutors. This was actually the first time Gwendal had seen her in almost four days, only catching glimpses of her bouncy curls in the hall as he made his way to his office in the morning. He hugged her tighter even as her sobs died down into whimpers. He continued to stroke her hair even when she pulled away from him again and collected herself to look him straight in the eye with an air of determination and stubbornness that he had only seen previously in her blonde father. Amazing, how a child not born of either her father's blood could still bear the same traits and mannerisms as if she had the same blood in her veins.

"Uncle Gwendal," She said in a voice that left no room for arguments or lies. "What's happening to my father?"

"He is very ill, Greta," Gwendal answered, unable to hide anything from those solemn eyes. "His body is going through a change that will make him stronger than before, but it's very difficult and his body is not healing the way it's supposed to."

"I know _that_," Greta said. "You've told me often enough. But I can't help but feel like it's something more. Even when he was sick, Daddy was always the same. He still played with me. He still found time for me and everyone. He was always smiling. But he's…different. He's not the same. Uncle, you should see him at night, he just stares into the distance, he doesn't hear me or see me even when I stand in front of him and scream until my throat hurts. Everyone comes to me, but he just sits there. At night it's worse, I can hear him crying, and begging for it to stop."

As she spoke, her tears began anew, and her words were accentuated by hiccup, and sniffs as the girl described how her world was falling apart around her, her father was suffering and she could do nothing to help him.

'_It is nothing. It's all part of the change. There's nothing to worry about, my dear.'_

"It is nothing," Gwendal said, tone comforting, yet automatic. "It's all part of the change. There's nothing to worry about, my dear."

Greta only sniffled, wiping away her tears with a trembling hand. "But what if it's not, Uncle? Something isn't right. I know you told me the change could take months to complete, but I can't help but feel there's something missing."

'_There's nothing to worry about, Greta.'_

"There's nothing to worry about, Greta," Gwendal said, drawing the girl back into his embrace.

"Yes, there is!" She pushed away from him, glaring through her tears. "There's a ton of things to worry about!"

'_No there isn't. It will all be over soon, Greta. Don't you worry.'_

"No, there isn't," Gwendal said, gently pushing a strand of hair out of her face. "It will al be over soon, Greta. Don't you worry."

Greta just looked at him. "I'm still going to worry. I want Wolfram back. Wolfram will know what to do."

"I'm sure he will, Greta," Gwendal said. "But, until he's back, we are doing all we can to help your father. Wolfram will return very soon. This, I promise you."

Standing up from his kneeling position, he gave Greta one last pat on the head, more words of comfort to the still sniffling girl and hurried to the king's bedroom to meet with the sage, and hopefully, find a resolution to their problems.

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Murata's feet kicked beneath him as he was lifted off the ground by an irate demon king. Or really, it wasn't the demon king anymore. His mind reeled as precious oxygen was cut off from his brain, and old memories flashed across his waning vision as cold hands tightened their grip on his throat.

The words that rolled off the tongue of his attacker were of a language long dead, no one, not even the nobility could speak the Old Tongue, a language not spoken since the time of the Ten Demon Kings. A Language that only existed in the oldest of documents now lost or destroyed. But the words were clear, and he knew them, heard them and immediately understood the threat they conveyed.

The dark aura was all around them now. Twining, and twisting around flailing limbs, and malicious grins. Writhing in glee as the hapless victim's movements grew sluggish and his eyelids drooped as his life was eked out of him.

"Sh-Shibuya…" Was all he could rasp out, as a creature in his best friend's skin leaned forward with a triumphant smile, canine glinting, eyes burrowing into his soul.

"_Not…anymore_…" It whispered, accent not that of Japan, instead it was grating, and cruel.

The door was kicked open. Conrad and Yozak came rushing in, followed by a few guards. With experienced hands, they rushed the two. Yozak pried Shibuya's hands from his bruised neck and Weller roughly pulled the hissing man from him.

Murata sputtered, and took in a gluttonous gulp of air, his vision returning. He collapsed against the waiting arms of the red-haired spy, eyes still affixed on the struggling king as the guards and Conrad tried vainly to restrain him. Yozak was dragging him towards the door and into the hall as more guards came to assist, roused by the commotion. Once in the hall, Murata fell to his knees, still staring in shock and fear at the wild thing still inside Shibuya's bedroom.

"Your Majesty! Yuuri!" Conrad shouted over the screeches coming from the king. But the king was beyond reasoning. Conrad had his arms hooked under Yuuri's armpits, as two guards made a move for his kicking legs, one of whom received a hard kick right in the jaw, sending the poor man back onto his rump in a daze, but within seconds another took his place. It disturbed Murata how they all showed expertise when it came to restraining the king, no hesitation at all, despite that they were manhandling the most powerful man in the kingdom. No, they acted as if they were handling a common madman, some lucid punk off the streets, essentially unworthy of their sympathy.

Yozak was saying something to him, but Murata couldn't hear anything other than the enraged screech of Shibuya as they shoved him to the bed, producing leather bindings seemingly out of nowhere and fastening him to the bedposts. While they bound him to his bed, Yuuri's eyes never left Murata's face. They never lost the cold rage behind them. Even when the door was slammed shut, he could still feel them on him, never wavering.

"Your Eminence!" Yozak shook him roughly by the shoulders, only then did Murata finally acknowledge the other man. He broke free of Yozak's grasp and stood up on shaking legs.

"I have to leave," He said breathlessly. Without another word, he all but ran down the hall, back towards the entrance to the castle, leaving a stunned Yozak behind him.

It only took a second for Yozak to gather his wits, and pursue Murata down the hallway.

"Your Eminence!" He shouted. "Where are you going? You can't leave!"

Murata only slowed his pace a bit, but continued on to his destination, he barked at a nearby servant to fetch his horse, completely ignoring the protests from behind him. He understood that he was leaving them, when they so desperately needed him, but there was nothing he could do then to help them in any way. They were all in over their heads, completely at the mercy of _his_ vengeful spirit.

He knew what it was that had Shibuya and everyone in the castle suffering so. He knew the face, the personality, the voice, everything. But for the life of him he couldn't recall his name. That name had been erased from every book, letter, and painting since the Dark Times. His name was synonymous with destruction, and the circumstances surrounding his death were steeped in mystery, they were buried in the darkest corners of the memory, especially his, because no one was meant to find out. He had allowed those memories to die away along with the Daikenja.

Yozak caught up to him, and grabbed his forearm, spinning him around to face the hard stare of the spy.

"You can't leave!" Yozak hissed. "You just got here! You're the only one that can help us!"

But Murata was already shaking his head when Yozak said that they needed him. They did, and maybe he could have helped. But this was beyond him. The presence was following him with malicious glee at his helplessness. He could hear it mocking him from behind Yozak, peering over the other man's shoulder, toothy grin shining in the dim light of the hall.

He couldn't help them from where he was now, but if he could get back to the temple, he could find answers.

"There's nothing I can do for you." He said with as much authority as he could muster when the presence reached around Yozak to choke him from the inside. Murata gasped, stumbling away and turning to leave.

He nearly broke from the guilt when he caught a glimpse of the shocked, and desperate expression on Yozak's face. The spy rarely showed emotion other than sarcasm, and stoicism, to see him so openly disturbed at the turn of events, left Murata feeling even guiltier that he was leaving so soon, with no help or answers for any of them.

"If you let me go," He rasped, the presence was toying with them now, scratching up his throat, making itself known to him and only him. "I can help Shibuya. But I don't have the knowledge to help him now. I have to go back."

Yozak froze. "You know what's wrong with him?" He asked, grabbing Murata again and pulling him closer, pining him under his gaze, but it was nowhere near as powerful as the thing inside Shibuya. "Stay and tell us!"

"I-I can't!" Murata cried, yanking his arm from Yozak's grip. "I don't know what's wrong!"

"But you just said you did!"

"I…know," Murata looked down at the floor, face contorted in confusion and frustration. "I do…and then I don't. This wasn't supposed to happen. He said it was foolproof..."

"What are you talking about?" Yozak all but shouted, equally as frustrated as the sage, for himself, and for his captain still inside the royal bedchamber. The screams had died down, but the few sounds that escaped from behind the doors echoed off the wide halls, reaching the ears of the two men.

Murata grimaced, a thousand different emotions playing across his usually stoic face. He didn't know how he could explain what was really going on with Shibuya, but words escaped him, and the dark aura was cackling so loudly in his ears he could barely hear himself think, much less communicate.

But, he looked up into Yozak's accusing eyes, seeing the desperation, and anger on his face. He needed to get back to the temple. It was the only place where he could find answers. He needed to check something, see the oubliette, and its contents.

"I can find out what's going on with the king," He said as evenly as he could, looking at Yozak as sternly as possible, silently communicating the need for his return to the temple. "But I need to go back to the Temple, and look for something. I need to go now." 'Before it kills me,' he added silently.

"But…" Yozak's anger deflated slightly and his confusion set in. "We need you! The doctor who's looking at him now is crud! He doesn't know anything!"

"I'll be back," Murata promised. "Just give me two days and I will be back. I swear to you."

"You can go later! Just stay. I know you're probably scared that the kiddo would attack you, but that's just the severity of the situation! He's done worse, much worse to himself and to us! We've tried everything, your Excellency! We're at our wit's end! Come back with me. There must be something-"

"There's nothing you or I can do at this point!" Murata shouted, but he quickly collected himself. "Not now. This was…..it is, beyond us, much deeper than it would seem."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean," Murata said. "Is that this change is merely a cover up of something else, something deeper, and we are completely helpless against it if you don't let me go."

Yozak said nothing, only stared down at the younger man, Murata stared back, face set and determined. "Please, Yozak."

"Two days?" Yozak repeated, skeptically.

Murata only nodded. The aura was pressing in now, urging him to go, to try and help his little friend, it was useless anyway.

Yozak wasn't letting go. "You have to see Voltaire first before you leave. He should be here by now."

"Let me go." Yes, Murata was begging now. He needed to get answers, but he also just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

'_Would you like me to have him let you go, sage?'_ The aura chuckled. _'Because I'd be more than happy to.'_

No sooner had the words etched themselves into Murata's mind, did Yozak heave a tired sigh and step away from him.

'_There we go!'_ It chirped.

"Fine." Yozak said grudgingly. "But you better be grateful, I'm sticking my neck out for you. The boss will never forgive me."

Murata didn't say anything; he only stared with wide, frightened eyes at the man, at what had just happened. Yozak shouldn't have conceded, but he did, because of the aura.

Yozak's expectant gaze and the aura's power moved him. With one final look back, Murata turned and nearly ran out of the castle. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, his horse was already waiting. The dark brown thoroughbred was fidgeting, and whining, well aware of the evil that encircled the entire castle, unlike the blind inhabitants. He gave his horse a fleeting stroke, and mounted it.

He paused and turned around to see the spy still standing at the top of the stairs, an unreadable expression on his face.

A thought occurred to him. Murata motioned for the other man to come closer. Expression unchanged, Yozak walked swiftly down the stairs and was at his side within seconds.

Murata leaned forward, the sound of the rain and wind hiding his voice from prying ears.

"Listen to me, keep Yuuri in his room. Don't let him near anyone. Find him someone to watch his every move. Do not let him leave his room at night and if he tries to attack someone again, you may want to bind him."

Not waiting for an answer, Murata straightened in his saddle, kicked his horse's side was and off through the gates of the castle, all the while the presence cackled and licked at his heels, urging the beast forward, away from its new domain.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

"I…just don't know what to do with you anymore!" Conrad said, voice cracking from emotion.

Yuuri didn't respond. He had gone limp in the few seconds after they tore his hands from the Sage's neck. Yuuri had never behaved in such a way. He bit, he scratched, he grabbed until blood, and skin were caught under his nails from the exposed flesh of the hapless soldiers who tried to subdue him. Conrad was now sporting three perfectly straight scratches down the left side of his face from Yuuri's attack. The red welts burned when the sweat from his brow trickled down his skin. He winced every time he spoke, the muscles in his cheek stretching and irritating the marks.

"Please, Yuuri," Conrad begged, cupping his godson's cold cheek, tilting the young man's face into full view. He ached when Yuuri didn't even acknowledge his movements, the king's eyes were completely glazed over, and they hadn't even given him anything yet. He had just let out one last squeal and collapsed onto the bed, and remained in a tangle of limbs and sheets, staring with empty eyes at the wall behind the soldier.

"Please," his voice was just a whisper now, his desperation made it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. "Help us make you better."

When Yuuri didn't answer or even seem to hear him, Conrad silently admitted defeat. He gently laid Yuuri's head back down onto the pillow and pulled up one of the covers to shield him from the cold. He then took the young man's icy hand into his own, Yuuri was always cold now, inside and out, he was no longer the warm-hearted man they loved. This thing in front of him was just an empty shell, a vapid, tumultuous, aggressive, uncontrollable creature that wore his godson's face. Nothing was left of his godson's vibrancy, his kindness, his life. He was just some _thing_.

"We've tried everything, Yuuri," He said. "The medicine, the therapy-we've done everything we could think of to help you. But nothing is working. I fear that we are doing something terribly wrong, but I don't know what. What could be possibly going on with you that we don't know about? Please, Yuuri. You must tell us. because guessing hasn't done us one godforsaken thing."

Yuuri shifted in his spot, his limp fingers tightened weakly around Conrad's own. The soldier looked on in surprise as Yuuri's eyes slowly peered around the room, before focusing on Conrad's own gaze. Black stared into brown, cracked lips moved, the voice was so small that Conrad had to lean until his nose was nearly brushing against Yuuri's in order to catch the broken sentence.

"Help….me," his king whispered. "He's…killing me…"

Yuuri sunk back into his bed, drifting back into unconsciousness. Conrad squeezed his hand, shaking it a little to keep Yuuri awake long enough to understand the words coming out of his mouth.

"Who?" Conrad demanded, filled with dread, and pleading with Yuuri to stay with him a bit longer. "Who is killing you?"

Yuuri let out a ragged breath, energy quickly depleting as he let go of Conrad's hand, leaving it the hang limply in the other man's grip.

"Yuuri!" Conrad cried. "Stay with me! Tell me!"

A single word, the hand fell from Conrad's grip, Yuuri's eyes rolled back into his head as they slid shut, and he fell back into darkness, leaving Conrad to process the confirmation of his fears.

"…Him…"

The door the bedroom was thrust open. Gwendal entered followed by Gunter, ready to speak with the now gone sage and no doubt just informed of what had transpired only minutes before.

"Where is the sage?" Gwendal all but shouted at his brother. He walked up to stand behind him, and his frown deepened at the sight of the king as Gunter let out a pitiful cry at the sad state the change had left their ruler in. The royal advisor fell to his knees beside Conrad, and took one of Yuuri's hands into his own.

"When will this be over?" He cried, looking between the two soldiers, needing some kind of answer, some kind of comfort.

Gwendal chose to ignore him and instead directed his attention to Conrad, who had not moved from his position at the king's side.

"Where is the sage?" He asked again, this time much slower and through gritted teeth.

"He's gone."

All three of them turned to see Yozak walk into the room, arms crossed, grim and frustrated.

"Where?" Gwendal shouted. "He just got here twenty minutes ago! How could he have gone?" He glared at Yozak. "How could you have let him go? Don't you realize how much we need him now?"

"There was nothing he could do right now," Yozak said, grimly.

"The hell there was!' The exhausted general snarled, he was just about ready to give up on everything.

"What are we going to do?" Gunter cried, raking his hands harshly through his long hair. No one had seen much of him in the past few days, he had exiled himself to the massive library and the archives, looking for any information on Verschmelzungs and the change in the hopes that it would somehow help them understand what was happening to their king. The advisor's clothes were disheveled and his hair was messed from thin fingers constantly running through them in agitation.

Gwendal answered Günter's question, but never stopped glaring at Yozak, who stared back blankly. "Get the soldiers," He growled. "And drag him back. I don't care about protocol! Just bring him back here!"

"It's no use, your Excellency," Yozak said, rather calmly despite being torn to pieces by Gwendal's glare. "There was nothing he could do here, so he went back to the temple and said he would return in two days."

"Are you kidding me?" Gwendal snarled. "We've been all but begging him to come and he finally does and just decides he can't be of use. He's the sage for Shinou's sake! He always has answers!"

"I'm…sorry," Yozak said. "But he did order me to let him go, and his word trumps everyone's but the king's."

Gwendal let out a harsh hiss and spun around to stare out the window, towards the path the retreating sage had took just moments before. If only he had gotten there sooner, if only Greta hadn't come in with her silly questions. He could have gotten the sage to stay.

"Brother," Conrad's voice broke the heavy silence that had taken the room, for the first time, he acknowledged the three men behind him and stood, his gaze was determined and fixed upon his older brother, several emotions playing across his serious brown eyes.

"What is it?" Gwendal noticed the hard look in his younger brother's eyes, and knew immediately that he had to listen. When any of the brothers got that look, they all stopped and took heed.

"I demand that we have a talk with Marko and get some answers, now." Conrad's voice was eerily quiet, but the gravity of his words weighed down on all of them and left no opportunity to say otherwise.

With resignation, and whole-hearted agreement, Gwendal nodded his consent.

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"Is everything alright, nephew?"

Wolfram looked up from his lukewarm porridge at the concerned face of his uncle. His hand stopped its arbitrary stirring of the thick, sweet paste, the temperature having long ago cooled. He slowly lifted his head from his hand, too tired to even hold it up properly as a man of his station should, he was just too fatigued.

The past few days had been absolute torture for the young prince. The constantly bad weather had hindered any news from the capital, leaving his overworked imagination to come up with the most terrible scenarios taking place in his absence. His thoughts were filled with images of his fiancé, silent inquires and worries to his health, the status of his daughter, if his little family was being cared for the way he thought they should. Nothing, not a single piece of information to put his weary mind at rest and ease the restlessness in his mind as he frittered away in his uncle's estate.

"I'm fine," he muttered, returning his attention back to his untouched food. His hand resumed its pointless stirring.

"You don't look fine," Waltorana countered. Wolfram only continued to play with his food. Waltorana sighed, leaning back into his own chair. He had managed to bring his nephew out of his room to join him for breakfast, intent on coaxing the young man into eating when the trays he had sent up to his room came back full. The maids had informed him that the young man was not sleeping either. The sounds of him shuffling about his room at all hours of the night and the odd bump or two alerted them to his nightly activities. When Waltorana did see his nephew during the day, the young man was drawn, and gaunt, walking around with his shirts unbuttoned halfway, his hair a mess, and a haunted expression on his face. Ever since the night he had given Wolfram the tea block, the prince had become a recluse, rarely leaving his bedroom, unless Waltorana specifically summoned him. His nephew didn't even look like he had bathed recently, and that was in itself worrisome judging by how hygienic he was normally. Waltorana made sure that Wolfram received the special teas he made his healers prepare for him every evening to help him sleep, but even that didn't seem to be helping the troubled demon.

"I really am, Uncle," Wolfram insisted, but a look from Waltorana let him know that the leader of the Bielefeld's didn't buy that for one second.

"No, you're not," Waltorana said flatly. "Now tell me what is wrong. You haven't been sleeping well, and you're not eating. It can't be simply because of homesickness, can it?"

"I told you, it's nothing," Wolfram huffed. Though he knew his uncle was looking out for his well-being, he couldn't help the bitterness that bubbled underneath his skin when he thought of what his uncle had given –and said- to him merely days prior. A bitterness that made him feel less inclined to indulge his uncle's concern.

"Don't be stupid, Wolfram," Waltorana said. "It's obvious something's bothering you."

Wolfram sighed, finally abandoning his food. "I need to go home, Uncle," He said. "I need to see my fiancé. He needs me."

Waltorana looked at this nephew with sympathy. Wolfram only spoke when it was to express his desperation to return to the capital. But, no matter how much Waltorana tried, he could not get Wolfram to understand that he didn't keep him here for his own selfish reasons, the damned weather made travel impossible and he would not risk his nephew's safety for the sake of true love. No matter how romantic the notion sounded. He was too practical for that.

"I know," He said. "I understand it's frustrating, but you must know that it is unwise for you to travel. Not until this weather eases up and the roads are no longer rivers."

"Please, Uncle," The desperation in Wolfram's voice was heartbreaking. "There has to be a way! I can't stay here while Yuuri is back at the castle. He needs me!"

"And why would he need you so desperately?" Waltorana asked, leaning forward in his seat, gaze drilling into Wolfram even from the very end of the table.

"He's…fallen ill," Wolfram said cautiously. Gwendal had warned him to keep the change a guarded secret. There was no way to predict how the Aristocrats would react and their disdain of Yuuri's bloodline to begin with wouldn't do them any good.

"Has he?" Waltorana replied smoothly. "With what?"

"With…influenza," Wolfram explained as smoothly as possible. "He wasn't feeling well when I left so I meant to return to his side quickly as a fiancé should. It would not do for me to leave him in his state."

"Huh," Waltorana grunted indifferently, he reached for a pastry and took a bite of the little cake, chewing contemplatively as he regarded his nephew. When he swallowed the pastry, he picked up his cup filled with hot tea.

"It must have something to do with what happened at the anniversary banquet," He muttered into the teacup. "I noticed that he had been distracted the entire evening after he gave that pretty little speech of his. Almost like he wasn't even in the room."

"It must have," Wolfram looked down at his own neglected breakfast, a maid had dutifully replaced his cold tea with a fresh cup. It was still steaming in front of him, beside the plate of assorted cakes, their brightly colored frosting the only joy in the dim dining room.

"It must be a serious case of Influenza then," Waltorana continued, gazing into his tea as if the liquid would yield more answers than his nephew. "For him to collapse in the middle of such a huge state affair. Were you not seeing after his care?"

"We were," Wolfram assured. "But as you know, it would have been difficult for us to reschedule such a massive event. Even if he was ill, Yuuri wouldn't have let us do it anyway. He's foolhardy like that."

"Very foolhardy. But if he had been ill even then, why was he not allowed back to his rooms?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question, Uncle?" Wolfram said in disbelief. "You know as well as I do that Yuuri wouldn't have been allowed to leave. He is required to mingle, and talk with the guests and do other things, especially when it's the celebration of his third year as king."

"Be that as it may, it still caused quite a scene when he fell to the ground in the middle of the opening dance. You should have seen the faces on the other nobles. The rumors started flying the minute he was carried from the room. Most say it was poison, others say something else."

"What else do they say?" Wolfram asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Nothing unusual," Waltorana said nonchalantly. "Just that his Majesty might be caving under the added pressures of ruling, among other things."

"What other things?" Wolfram had grown up with castle gossip his entire life. He had been the subject of various rumors and they only seemed to increase with his relationship with Yuuri. But, he was used to it, used to being ridiculed, and judged behind his back, behind fake smiles and empty complements. But, Yuuri, his sweet, caring Yuuri wouldn't know to see past the fake visage and see the truth. He chose to believe that others were as honest and genuine as he was, no matter how experience taught him otherwise. It made Wolfram feel even more protective towards his fiancé, so when someone brought up a rumor, Wolfram's hackles rose, ready to stamp it out for Yuuri's sake.

Waltorana only sighed and gently placed his cup back into his dish. He carefully pushed aside his plate for a waiting maid to carry them away, calmly enduring the drilling stare of his nephew. After dabbing his upper lip, he finally returned the gaze unflinchingly.

"Some are saying that the illness that has besotted the king is driving or has already driven him mad."

"How so?" Wolfram whispered.

"It's recent," Waltorana said. "But some have been saying that his Majesty's behavior has grown more erratic with each passing day. Some say he's been locked in his room by his retainers and kept away from everyone else, lest he become violent, which, if the rumors be true, has already happened."

"How did you know this?"

"I have ways."

"Then what you're saying is completely without merit!" Wolfram stated.

" It could be, but then it couldn't" Waltorana said, much to the frustration of his nephew.

"Well, let me be the first to tell you," Wolfram threw down his fork with a huff. "That whatever you have heard, it is completely baseless and I'm surprised that you would be wasting your time with senseless rumors."

"All rumors begin with a semblance of truth."

"All rumors begin with a semblance of truth that has been corrupted by assumption!" Wolfram retorted. "Uncle, I will not believe a word you say if you can't give me more details or tell me how you got this information when every messenger has been blocked by this goddamned rain!"

Waltorana didn't want to say anything, but he had gotten his information from former servants working in the palace that were still loyal to the Bielefeld family. The rumors he spoke of were from nearly four weeks ago, shortly after his nephew had departed the capital and right before the weather turned for the worse. Wolfram's subtle reactions; a twitch of his eye, the way he gripped his cutlery, alerted Waltorana to something much graver than a simple case of influenza.

Waltorana didn't like to be kept in the dark about things, and he certainly didn't like not knowing what the future husband of his nephew was up to. While he had grudging respect for the young king and had been impressed with his accomplishments so far, he still kept a focused eye on the king's behavior. The boy was young and not a native of the kingdom, born and raised somewhere else, and Waltorana didn't trust the divine judgment of their True King the way others did. He was a man of empirical evidence and proof of quality, not divine governance.

Maybe it was his protectiveness of his nephew, a boy who was like a son to him, the last remnant of his beloved brother or maybe it was his own distrust of the Christs and the Voltaires who were a part of the king's close circle that drove him to question and suspect. He wanted a Bielefeld to be a part of that circle. Not just that, but the king's right hand and second in power in the kingdom. To have that kind of influence would solidify the Bielefeld's survival and power so long as Yuuri remained king and Wolfram, with his superior lifespan, remained his spouse and heir.

But he wasn't going to let Wolfram know that. "Calm down, Wolfram," He said, giving his best comforting smile. Now that Wolfram had given him some insight by way of body language, he could back off a little. "I'm only looking out for you, you know that."

It was something that few could ever hope to do, even Wolfram's brothers, and Waltorana was probably the only one who could – calm his nephew with a simple word and the right tone of voice and it worked each time. Wolfram relaxed slightly and sat back into his seat, gaze softening as his uncle held that soothing smile.

"Fine," Wolfram said. "But don't waste your time with such stupidity."

Wolfram on the other hand, was well aware of his uncle's potential ulterior motives. Though he wasn't sure of this instance, he knew enough from past experience and observation of his uncle in political meetings that he should travel with caution around the older Bielefeld. He knew that his uncle had spies planted in Blood Pledge castle and he had made it a side mission of his to eradicate them, but his uncle was sneaky and Wolfram could never fully get rid of all of them, there was always a couple that escaped his grasp. He knew exactly what his union with Yuuri would mean for his family. In any other case, Wolfram would have proudly acted as the vessel through which his mighty clan gained power and prestige for hundreds of years to come, but that was before he had held such deep feelings for the king. Now he felt a need to protect his Yuuri from the plans and conspiracies of his family and that of other closely tied noble families whose livelihood rested on his marriage prospects.

" And I shalln't," His uncle replied affirmatively, but who knew how much it really meant. "This marriage will be a new phase in your young life, there will be many new responsibilities, to the king, to the country and to your family. You will be expected to take on some of the care for your lesser relatives alongside myself, in some cases more so than myself. But I think that with time, you will get the hang of it. This illness that has befallen his Majesty will surely pass and everything will be back to the way it was."

About halfway through his speech, Wolfram completely tuned out his uncle as another presence made itself known in the parlor. Wolfram had been eyeing it out of his peripheral vision ever since their conversation began and it started as a gray blur in the corner. He thought it was merely a shadow cast by the window, but that couldn't be possible when the curtains were drawn and the blur began to grow in size and take shape. While he had attributed it to a trick of his tired mind, the shadow solidified right behind his uncle's shoulder as the other man prattled on. It was facing away from him, head bowed into the corner. The head formed first, a familiar black mop of hair followed by shoulders, arms, torso, hips and legs clothed the ratty, blood-stained uniform of his fiancé.

The temperature in the room dropped, Wolfram didn't hear his uncle call his name questioningly as 'Yuuri', pain-stakingly slow, turned around to face him, pinning him to the spot with haunted eyes. Wolfram felt the blood rush out of his cheeks as Yuuri faced him fully and he could see the wraith that was his fiancé.

Yuuri looked like a hunted, beaten, broken creature. Leaning heavily against the wall, skin white as death, dark circles framing saucer-sized eyes, hair in straggly tangles around thin cheekbones. A bony hand weakly reached out to him as pale lips formed words that brushed against Wolfram's ears.

"Please," He heard Yuuri whisper feebly, his hand shaking uncontrollably. "Help…me…he's killing me."

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said breathlessly as he stood up quickly from his seat and rushed past his uncle to cradle the other man.

"Wolfram?" Waltorana asked, watching the prince with increasing worry as he saw the color drain from his face drain and his body froze up in fear at some unseen entity behind him. Waltorana followed his line of vision, but his confusion only worsened when he saw nothing that could have caused such a reaction in his ward.

Just was Wolfram reached out to grasp Yuuri's outstretched hand, the young king disappeared, causing Wolfram to nearly trip into the wall. The blonde frantically looked around for his fiancé just in time to see the apparition standing in the doorway to the main hall and then turn to walk away.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram took off, ignoring the outburst from his uncle and chased Yuuri down the hallway back towards his bedroom.

He followed him into his bedroom, the half-demon was collapsed on his bedroom floor, no longer in his bloody uniform but in a bloody rough tunic and shredded trousers, the marks of a whip peeking through the cloth. He was chained to the floor, no longer a lush carpet but the harsh concrete of a cell, large shackles biting cruelly into soft skin. His hands clawed at the straw covered stone, grasping for something unseen, something nonexistent.

Wolfram was filled with overwhelming guilt. He knelt at his fiancé's side and gently rolled him over onto his back. He cried out softly when the face of his love was covered in thin scratches nearly beyond recognition, weeks' worth of torture painfully evident on his arms, legs and hollow cheeks.

"Oh-oh, my love what have they done to you?" Wolfram sobbed, his voice slightly lighter and of a different cadence. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry!"

At the sound of 'his' voice, Yuuri slowly opened bloodshot eyes and looked up at him with a mixture of sadness and accusation.

Wolfram continued to mutter gibberish as he gathered the broken body into his arms, cradling it in an attempt to soothe away the pain, but nothing could comfort the emotional pain that sparked behind those eyes.

"You betrayed me," Yuuri whispered brokenly.

"I'm so sorry," Wolfram pleaded. " I never meant to hurt you. They promised me they wouldn't hurt you."

"You're a fool," Yuuri coughed, little spatters of blood stained his lips.

"What was I supposed to do?" He cried. "The change, it corrupted you. You became someone else!"

"I told you my weakness because I trusted you with my life. You demanded proof of my love for you so I gave you my life. I told you how to kill me. It was all a trick." 'Yuuri' hissed, ignoring Wolfram's pitiful pleas.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Wolfram was sobbing now. His jerky movements caused him to hold 'Yuuri' even tighter. "Please, let me take you from here! I can talk to Shinou, I can convince him to give you reprieve! Please, you're still his own-"

"I want nothing from that traitor!" 'Yuuri' snarled weakly, eyes blazing with rage. "And least of all from you! Let me die here and may my death be a curse on your soul!'

"Don't do this!" Wolfram begged. "I love you!"

Yuuri gave Wolfram a bitter, dreadful smile. "I did as well, Rufus."

"_Wolfram!"_

His uncle's voice was like icy water being poured over his body. Wolfram whipped his head back with a harsh gasp as the cell melted away to reveal the lush décor of his own bedroom. The smell of torches and rotted hay were gone, replaced by fragrant incense and fresh linens. He no longer kneeled on a stone floor, but a luxurious rug, instead of Yuuri's beaten body, his arms held nothing but air, fingers flexing at the now empty space.

His uncle stood in the doorway, staring down at him with a stunned look in his face. Fear, concern and confusion also colored his fine features. The two demon lords simply stared at each other, neither knowing what to do or say in light of such a situation. Waltorana was questioning his nephew's sanity and Wolfram could only muster a single thought in his frantic mind.

"Uncle," He said with dogged determination. "I must return to Blood Pledge, no matter what."

Waltorana nodded stiffly. "Very well, but as head of the Bielefeld family and your guardian, I hereby order you to tell me what is going on, now."

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

His horse hadn't fully come to a stop before Murata had already dismounted the steed. Black hair plastered to his face by the steady rainfall, eyes squinted as they struggled to see past the droplets of water that cascaded down his face, he all but ran into the entrance to the temple, the cold laugh of the aura still echoing in the back of his mind.

Murata was both relieved and embarrassed at his departure. He cursed himself for giving into the taunts and power of the entity. But, he knew that he had little power against it. It was something beyond his knowledge, something that couldn't be done by the currently not-as-Great Sage.

A tiny voice in his head told him that he shouldn't be ashamed. After all, he may be the wisest, but he was also human like the rest of them. Flawed, and just as likely to have his moments of weakness, but another voice told him that he should have had more control, over himself and the situation.

It was those eyes! Yuuri's deep black eyes, that usually held such kindness and innocence, turned on him. Whatever ounce of courage or calm control he had in his possession immediately vanished when he looked into those deep abysses filled with cold-hearted hatred and malice and saw the very soul of the one whose death haunted the history of Shin Makoku, lauding a distant curse over the prosperous kingdom. A kingdom, whose affluence was bought with the blood of that one, single individual.

It was not his friend that he saw. It was He Who Should Not Be Named, He who should be forgotten. The memory only known to the rats and worms that ate at his rotting corpse in the oubliette, where they left him to the ravages of starvation and time.

Murata shoved pass the temple maidens who stood by in shock as the notoriously lecherous sage ignored their beauty, acted as if they weren't even there. Even when they called out cheerfully to him, he didn't so much as give them a passing glance, only made his way deeper into the stone fortress that was the spiritual center for the demon tribe.

He made his way past the main shrine, only registering Ulrike's questioning calls as he pushed onward into the bowels of the temple. In his haste, his brain managed to relay an order to his hand, which grabbed a lit torch of the wall as the other shoved a heavy door aside, revealing the stone stairs that led into the deepest parts of the temple.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. It had been years, millennia, since he had descended those stairs. Why it gave it easily to his touch, he would never know, but the energy floating up from the abyss hinted that another power wanted him to come forward into the darkness, to see the terrible secrets it held.

A part of him, his 'human' side, bade him stay, not to follow the beckoning call of '_It' _that led to certain doom in the form of terrible memories filled with guilt and betrayal. But that other part, the part that was the Sage and not Murata Ken ordered him forward, to find answers lest everything fall into ruins. Murata obeyed and took that first step that would lead him to the unknown.

The stairs were steep, dark, and wet. He grasped at the wall to steady himself as his feet threatened to slip and throw him down into the darkness. The torch flickered. Even the flames feared what lay before him. The light seeming to grasp desperately at the door behind him, but he trudged on. The torch was his only guide, and his nerve the only force pushing him deeper and deeper.

It grew steadily colder, wetter. His hand felt the leaks trickle down moss covered rock. The sound of rats scurrying through little puddles echoed in front of him. It was as they had left it. The stairs, the empty torch holders, the smells, everything was the same. The same isolation, desolation, and despair that broke even the strongest of warriors.

Memories played across the screen of Murata's vision. Memories of how they dragged their victims down, dragged _him_ down. As _he_ kicked, screamed, begged, and cursed, they yanked at _his_ chains, the sound of _his_ back hitting the sharp edges of the stairs, _his_ grunts and moans of pain as they pulled _him _to his lonely fate. Murata as his past self, his first self, followed behind them, carrying a torch much like he did now, watching coldly as they grabbed stringy black hair, revealing a dirtied, drawn, snarling face, dragging ever deeper into their artificial hell.

An obsessive need suddenly filled Murata as he drew ever closer to his destination, his feet guided by those memories. He had to see it! Had to touch it, smell it, - _hear_ it! Walk into that rounded room with the remnants of hay, lift that small hatch in the floor, and make sure he was still there, nothing but bones and memories, to make sure that he hadn't gotten out.

If Murata were looking in on himself, he would be embarrassed at his seemingly irrational behavior. There was no way out of that oubliette, not without aid, and aid was something that would never come to Him. They had made sure of it.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, his need outweighing his fear. His feet were the only sounds emitting in that godforsaken place. He felt a sense of disconnect from the outside world that now felt so far away, separated by walls of mossy stone, their depths a secret from the sunny world above, the world of activity and life.

This place was exactly as they had constructed it. It was the complete absence of everything good, and real. It was the presence of despair, and completely void of all things comforting, as it was meant to be for the prisoners of war they brought here to their slow, painful deaths.

He was glad that he didn't go left. He would have had to pass by the empty, rusted cells that held lesser victims. He would have had to hear their voices echoing from their individual voids cut into the walls of the dungeon.

The hallway finally ended after what felt like an eternity. Murata stopped at the entrance to the rounded room, once filled with strewn hay, now was bare and wet like the rest of the dungeon. In the center of the stone floor were the rotted remains of the wooden hatched, still bolted shut after all these years.

Taking a deep breath, Murata cautiously walked towards the little hatch. He wasn't sure of what he planned to accomplish by approaching the horrid thing, but his peace of mind bade him to see, to find out how he could have gotten past the seals carved into the wood of the door.

Just as his shaking hand touched the wood, it spoke.

"You won't be finding anything there, Sage."

Murata felt his body age a few years from the shock of the eerily soft voice directly behind him. He twirled around, nearly dislodging the torch from his grasp, staring with wide eyes into the shallow pool of light the flame created.

A figure, clothed in the darkness, stood just outside the flame's reach. It regarded him with both amusement and disdain, idling just beyond his reach, leaning heavily against the entrance to the round room that held his former prison and tomb.

Murata realized that the presence that had stalked him since he left the castle hadn't followed him down into the dungeon, instead it had retreated into itself, staying outside and now he knew that was due to it manifesting itself in physical form.

Murata didn't need to see its-_his_ face, to know who it was that was behind all of this.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. "How did you get out? We destroyed you!"

A one-shouldered shrug, beady eyes glinted in the amber torchlight as he shifted his weight to his other foot, altogether unfazed and arrogant in his stance.

He pointed to the door behind Murata. "I climbed out," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The hinges rusted after a time."

"That's not what I'm asking!" Murata snapped. "How did you get past the seals? Why haven't you crossed over? Why are you after Yuuri?"

He blinked lazily at him. "Even magic is not infinite, Sage. You of all people should know that."

"We broke your soul into pieces."

"You broke my _power_ into pieces, Sage," He sneered. " And you attempted to seal away those pieces. But you didn't touch my soul. My soul is intact, nice and dandy after all this time. As long it remains untouched, my power is irrelevant as long as the outlet through which it flows is intact." He shook his head in mock-disappointment. "You should have destroyed my power, instead of giving it a new avenue."

"It wasn't supposed to be," Murata stated.

"And yet, it was," He said. "So now where are we? Right here."

Murata pressed his lips together. The thing in front of him was deadly that much was true. He had extensive experience with the spirit world, but this was much more complicated than what he had encountered. This thing in front of him had its own conscience, its own memories, and a spiritual strength that was on par with him and Shibuya.

"Why couldn't the others sense you?" Murata asked. "I felt your presence the moment I reached the castle, but they didn't even notice you! They're magic wielders, they should be able to sense your power within their own walls!"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh that?" He said with a smirk. "It was rather simple. They don't sense me because I can hide from who I will. You only sensed me because I chose to reveal myself to you." His smirk grew into a mirthless grin. "I can also manipulate what and when they sense or think things. Surely you noticed?"

Murata had noticed. He had noticed the empty gazes, the blank stares underneath the concern the royal retainers held for their king. He had noticed the way Yozak had let him go too easily. Its energy permeated the entire castle, even the inhabitants, pulling invisible strings that manipulated everyone within the castle.

"Ah," he breathed in realization. "You forgot I could do that. It was easy, disappointing even. I would think that the descendants of the Four Keys would be harder to influence, especially the little king. But, his soul was already weakened when I came forward."

"The change," Murata whispered.

"Yes."

They were quiet after that, the presence regarding Murata with malicious intent, still hanging on the edge of the light. Murata's hand gripped painfully at the handle of the torch. His mind raced back into his memories, trying to find an explanation as to why this thing was still in their world. He had created those seals and cast the spells with his own magic! There was no way he should have been able to escape or manifest himself in this world.

"You betrayed me," It whispered suddenly. Murata's gaze shot up to see the smug expression transform into one of anger and hurt. "After everything, we'd been through with each other. You betrayed me, used me and then left me to die in that hellhole!" He gestured angrily toward the oubliette. "I thought that out of everyone, you would understand my plight the most! A fellow double black! You watched them torture me and you didn't come to my rescue!"

"It was never my intention to betray you," Murata said. "You don't understand! The change corrupted you to the point where you couldn't be reasoned with. We tried, my god, we tried to get through to you, but it was no use! We would have all been killed!"

"And whose fault was that!" He screeched, his calm façade breaking. "You wanted me to change! You all wanted me to make that bond! They wanted me to! Because it made them sick that a half-breed bastard was a member of the family!"

"That's not true."

"Is it now?" He sneered, teeth glinting in the light. "Tell me, I was useless until it was found that I could use magic. Tell me I wasn't more than a weapon, a means to an end for your own gain. You made me believe I was more than just a dirty half-blood, but that was a lie from the beginning just like everything else!"

"You betrayed us first," Murata whispered.

This time, he chuckled bitterly at Murata. "Yes, I suppose I did. After all, I was never supposed to grow so powerful, more so than your True King."

"You made a bond with the Other Side."

"And where would we be if I hadn't?" He said with an eyebrow raised mockingly. "The demon tribe would be nothing more than a dirt-covered, sniveling group of indigents enslaved by the weaker humans because they were so busy bickering that they didn't realize the humans were uniting under their very noses. Nothing like the prestigious, all-powerful kingdom you know and boast of."

Murata said nothing, because the words rang too true for him to protest. He smirked at the sage's hesitation, standing up straight from where he leaned and stepping closer towards the pool of light.

Murata watched as he stepped closer, the light traveling up black-clad legs, up a worn tunic, illuminating broad shoulders, and finally a head covered in sleek black hair. Murata bit back disgust and outrage when he saw the features of his friend.

"Why are you wearing his face?" He demanded.

He only chuckled again. "We're connected. It's only fitting I believe. Really though, we're not that different in appearance. Although, he does carry that doe-like innocence."

"What are you talking about?"

"Shinou's guilt would not let him be parted from me," he answered, staring off into the distance, past the stone walls and into a time long gone. "He needed me still. After everything, he still used me. I wasn't even gifted a chance at the after life. I was pulled from the abyss and placed within a new body, to be made what I always was to you- a weapon for your child-king."

Murata blinked in confusion. His mind kept drifting back to the time around Shinou's death, but he only drew a blank. His former self had erased that memory, pushed it back to the farthest recesses of his mind where this incarnation could not reach.

"What do you want?" Murata said vehemently, losing patience at his inability to remember.

"What do I want," the being repeated airily. "That's a good question. I guess, to put it simply, I want to destroy. I want to destroy everything Shinou built on my grave. I want to tear everything apart, the land, the people, and the ones who carry the blood of my enemies in their veins! And I will do it using the messiah you created in that young boy. So much like me, it hurts. He _is_ me."

Something inside him clicked, a flash of an image crossed Murata's mind for the briefest of moments and he was horrified.

"You-you're….you can't be! Shinou would never do that!"

"He would and he did," The being answered a smug grin on his face as he advanced toward the shocked young man.

Murata backed away. The torch flickered nervously in his grip. The being continued to advance on him. He pinned him down with the intensity of his dark eyes, -so much like Shibuya's that it sent chills down his spine. Once again, he was overwhelmed by the raw energy that surrounded the other man, pouring into every nook and cranny of the dungeon, making a mockery of the spiritual power of the Shrine Maidens, of him, and of Shinou himself.

"You won't get away with this!" Murata exclaimed, cursing the tiny squeak in his voice when the being only smiled wider at his statement and drew so close that their noses nearly touched. Murata couldn't turn away from those eyes, he felt as if they were pulling him in against his will, drawing him into a part of the past he would rather have forgotten, a past that had been stamped out from the history of the Great Demon Kingdom.

Instead of answering, the being reached out to gently touch Murata's cold cheek, taking delight in the fear that skimmed across Murata's expression. The being's smile softened into one of mock-sympathy, the reflection of the torchlight dancing in black eyes with dark glee as the being leaned forward to whisper in Murata's ear.

"I think there's a pretty good chance I will," He said, lips brushing against the shell of the sage's ear like that of a lover. "Considering that your people killed off the rest of the fused beings in their ignorant fear of me. Destroyed the only ones who could stand a chance against my power. Hunted them down like animals, they did. Only one you have on your side is under my control and probably won't survive the change. Thanks to his malleable retainers. " Sharp teeth grazed the sensitive curve, causing Murata to involuntarily shudder at the feather light touch.

The being's power was pressing into him, through him. He leaned against the door, held up by the wall and him. Murata's heart threatened to tear from his chest from the rapid beating. The being trailed a long hand up his thigh and side, curving his arm around his waist. The gesture was affectionate, sexual even, a display of dominance.

"Only a Verschmelzung can cancel out my power," He whispered. He snickered at the way Murata weakly struggled against his old, his power completely overwhelming the _Great Sage_.

"Too bad you won't be around to tell them that."

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Something terrible was about to happen.

That was about all he could discern from the haphazardly scattered runes that littered his wooden floor. Colored light from the stained glass of the various trinkets that hung from his ceiling cast the ebony runes in an eerie light, their message all the more intangible. It was a challenge, doing a blind reading with no prior information, even for his experienced mind. But he couldn't resist the urge when he awoke in the middle of the night, his instincts drawing him to the little wooden box that held his divination tools.

Runes were the hardest to read. He could have used the cards, at least then he would have had some control and guidance as he lay down each card, carefully reading each symbol and creating an understandable message from them. He could have used the meditation beads, opening his mind up to whatever spiritual energy that wanted to be known, he could have gotten a straight answer then. Runes were just so frustrating in their unpredictability.

However, it was their unpredictability and the lack of control over where they scattered that gave the runes their unique power. They were completely influenced by spiritual energies that were beyond the divination power of something so limited as the cards, and beads. Cards and beads would always be influenced somewhat by the holder's own spiritual essence, running the risk of altering the message. Runes were pure and free of corruption by the one who wielded them, making for an untouched message, but making its interpretation all the more difficult because that connection wasn't there.

He sat back on his heels and rubbed his tired eyes in frustration. He already knew he wouldn't be able to return to his blessed slumber until he was able to understand what the spirit world was trying to tell him. He groaned at the prospect of an early morning, traveling into town and having to tell some soddy teenage girls their futures for a few coins. It was petty work, and beneath a diviner of his station, but it kept food on the table and it wasn't like anyone would hire him for work once they realized what he was. No, his place was among those society had cast out, forgotten and worthless in the minds of "normal" people.

Heaving a sigh, he gathered the runes into his hands. Shook them as he muttered a prayer and then as carefully as possible threw them to the ground, analyzing the location and manner of where they landed.

The same six runes landed face up, while the others were hidden from his view. He itched to touch them, but just changing the position of a rune could alter the meaning and then he would have to start all over again, and that was a pain because each landing was different, thus requiring more interpretation, though the message remained the same.

"Brothers, rebirth, justice, power, secret, death," he muttered as his hand floated over each rune in turn. There was another issue with the runes- each rune had at least three different meanings assigned to each symbol.

Grumbling, he took his notebook and pencil and carefully drew a map of the location of each rune, taking notes of their position on the floor, the symbols, their possible meanings and the circumstances under which the divination was conducted.

Taking one last glance at the runes, he paused when he noticed a seventh rune face up on the ground next to the "secret" rune, the "purification" rune.

He leaned over to inspect it further, ensuring that it wasn't a trick of his sleep-deprived mind. Yet, there it was the "purification" rune sitting with the top corner of its pentagon shape pointing at the "secret" rune's left point.

The left side was the sinister side, the side of divine judgment and retribution. The rune of purification could mean purification in its literal form, some sort of mystical experience, or oneness with the gods.

He sat back and made note of this new development, it was rare that a new rune would make itself known after three attempts. This was odd…

A light went off in his head and he slapped himself for being forgetful. The purification rune was one of only two runes that had a fourth meaning to its symbol. It could mean purification, mystical experience, oneness with the Gods or…

Exorcism.

He would try to use the runes again in the morning. Maybe then he would have answers as to why the spirits kept drawing him to the south, towards the capital.

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Chapter Nine, my lovelies!

A big thank you to SwetxSnowxDream for being my beta. And I would like to welcome AsuraChan as my new German beta! Since we'll be getting t that later.

Yay, Wolfram's coming back! But what is Waltorana up to?

And who is this weird fortuneteller guy? We'll see soon!

Whew, this was probably the most difficult chapter to write. Murata's scenes were particularly challenging, I wanted to throw Murata off his game a little bit. I've gotten tired of seeing him portrayed as this all-knowing figure so I wanted to give him something that would make him shake in his boots a bit.

Things will get worse before they get better.

Thank you for taking the time to read this story! Please leave a review, I always love hearing from you all. You're input is very helpful when I'm writing. They also make me write faster!

Merry Christmas everyone and a Happy Holidays!

-EB


	10. Chapter 10 Accountability

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya chapter ten

Here is the new chapter! I thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. I'm so glad I've gotten such wonderful reviews, some of them from fellow authors whose work I have read and enjoyed. I am honored.

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Chapter Ten –Accountability (The Twentieth Day)

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A shadow loomed over the once happy capital of Shin Makoku. The formerly prosperous, peaceful, land was devoid of anything joyous. There was no sun, no stars, no moon, and no hope. The inhabitants of the grand city walked stooped over, their hoods covering their faces from the rest, creating a shield against others, and depriving them of the carefree socializing that accompanied each market day.

The markets were dismally stocked. The rains had made the transportation of goods near impossible. Those who braved the roads-turned-rivers risked the loss of their cargo and their lives. This left those trapped within the capital's walls with very few resources and a growing dependency on military aid.

Life inside the capital had ground to a halt. Most kept to themselves, tucked away in the shelter of their homes, rationing out what supplies they had as they waited for the military escorted caravans of food and supplies to come in from the coast.

Alphonse gripped his hood tighter around his face as he paid the lone vendor for the last few pieces of fresh fruit. This particular vendor was kind enough to ignore the growing trend of produce sellers hiking up their prices in light of the growing desperation many felt as they relied more and more heavily on preserved meats and vegetables. Fresh fruits were a luxury now, fresh vegetables even more so. Local produce was still holding on admirably, but imported crops were all but nonexistent. There was no sweet corn to be found or certain kinds of beans that the upper classes enjoyed in their dishes. There was talk in the barracks that if the rain didn't cease and soon, next year's crops would suffer.

Alphonse tucked the little basket under his cloak and hurriedly made his way back tot the castle. All around him similar huddled figures pushed and shoved their way through the wet and miserable crowd as they struggled to get to the dry safety of their homes. Alphonse indulged himself an undersized apple as he made his way back to the castle. Unlike his fellow shoppers, he didn't hurry his pace. He had spent far too much time within the suffocating walls of the castle grounds. He was happy to be out and about, walking, wandering and enjoying the wet outdoors. He had grown used to the constant dribble, the indistinguishable times of the day. There was no morning, afternoon or evening anymore, only light grey and black. Alphonse peered from under his dripping hood at the dull sky. The usual light grey had darkened to a smoky hue, signaling the coming night. He quickened his pace just a little. He didn't want to be caught outside the castle at night. It was dangerous with the poor visibility, water-logged streets and vagabonds out past the decent hours.

He had enjoyed his time outside. Staying in the castle was like staying in a funeral home. Only the dead walked about, instead of staying in their coffins, the leaders were morticians instead of generals and their king was little more than a possessed corpse.

The dark silhouette of the castle loomed maliciously over the town as he drew near. The few lit windows peered out like many leering eyes at the hapless citizens of the kingdom, cold and threatening -nothing like the welcoming and protective presence that the citizens relied on for their livelihood.

Alphonse took one last bite of his apple as he reached the outer gates of the castle. He lifted his hood for only long enough for the wet and irritable guards to acknowledge his identity and let him through one of the smaller, servants' entryways. They couldn't be bothered to open the main gate for a simple lieutenant.

He rushed across the courtyard, past the other soldiers and servants. He made a right towards yet another servants' entrance hidden behind a large hedge, glad that he made it in time before the door was bolted for the night. If he had been but a minute or two longer, they would have locked it for the night and he would have to go through the front doorway. While this wasn't an issue for him, it would make him very unpopular with some guards who scoffed at opening such a grand entrance for a lowly officer.

He stepped inside the brightly lit, narrow hallway. He sighed contentedly at the dry warmth that greeted him despite the oppressive atmosphere that had befallen the castle. He wrung the excessive water out of his cloak, giving it one good shake before he continued into the castle. He was looking forward to a hot meal, a steaming bath and a nice long sleep.

Up two flights of stairs, a right turn, a left turn and through the kitchens and Alphonse was in his hall. A few more steps down and he was at his door, key turning and unlocking the plain door, hinges creaking as he stepped into his dark, humble abode. A snap of his fingers had the candles all lit and the tiny iron heater roaring as he yawned and set down his basket on the table in front of a small portrait.

"Look what I found at the market, Nikki," He said, smiling warmly at the little oval painting. "Apples. They're still your favorite, right?"

The painting only smiled up at him. Alphonse reached out a thin finger to lovingly trace the brass frame that held the likeness of his lover. Of course, the artist who commissioned it would never do his Niklas justice. No artist would ever be able to capture that lively spark that always lit up Nikki's gaze when Alphonse walked through the doors of the infirmary to visit him for the second time that day. No artist could create the perfect shade of brown for his hair or the right shade of amber for his eyes, nor the perfect tone of peach for his soft skin. Anything was just a pale imitation of what had been a wonderful being that had graced Alphonse with his presence for four years until his death.

"I miss you so much," He murmured to the painting, tracing the outline of pink lips that constantly smiled at him in that assuring way, _that _the artist had been able to portray accurately. Niklas always had the prettiest smile, so genuine and kind, so sweet and childlike.

So much like the demon king.

Alphonse's hand dropped to his side, he frowned. His thoughts of the demon king were quickly transforming into something that was beyond curiosity or even concern. It was borderline obsession. The lack of training sessions for the past few days had opened up Alphonse's schedule, giving him more time to think and few distractions. It was like he was watching the events of the past play out before him. Every conversation he had overheard, every action he had witnessed, was a near perfect copy of what had happened to Niklas ten years ago. He knew the same confusion, the frustration, and the desperation the generals felt when they couldn't stop or pacify the terrible things that were happening to their king. Alphonse found himself taking on a voyeuristic tendency around the king's close circle. He would follow them sometimes, stand outside the king's door while he underwent Marko's treatments. He ate up every snippet of information, gossip and rumor that fell from the maids' lips when they came back with the king's increasingly tattered and dirty clothing.

"I wonder what you would do if you were here, Nikki," Alphonse mumbled to the portrait. Alphonse answered on behalf of the picture. "You'd make some of your famous apple strudel and send it to him with one of your potted flowers, wouldn't you?" He kissed the tip of his finger and pressed it to the painting, something he did every time he came in from the outside.

"Things are really messed up now, Nikki. I want to help the king, but I fear his retainers won't listen to me. Then again, who am I to blame them? They're desperate and frustrated, willing to take any and every cure that doctor throws at them."

Alphonse sighed forlornly. "I want to make sure they don't make the same mistakes I did, Nikki. I don't want Bielefeld to lose his fiancé too. It's too heartbreaking."

Alphonse plopped down on his bed and fell onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "Everyone in the castle is at their wits' end. Nothing's the same anymore." He rolled onto his side to look at the portrait. "Don't you remember when I told you that the demon king brought so much life to the castle? Remember how stuffy everything was before he came? At first, I thought he was a little childish, I didn't know much of him really. But, he made everyone feel like they meant something, you know?"

Nikki's face just looked at him with that soft smile.

"If only there was something I could do…"

No sooner had he spoken the words than a dull thud from outside his door nearly startled Alphonse out of his skin. He heard shuffling, then a pitiful moan outside the door. He sat up on the bed and walked towards his door to investigate the strange noises. It was late afternoon, most people should still be at their workplaces. The officer's quarters were usually empty this time of day.

"I wonder what that is, Nikki," Alphonse muttered as he opened the door and peered into the hallway.

At first, he saw nothing. The hallway was as it should be. There was no one around, no activity of any kind. Alphonse thought that maybe he was imagining things until he deigned to look down at the floor and discovered the source of the crash. One of the brass torches had been knocked out of its holder, smoke rising from the extinguished flame. The holder dangled crookedly from its perch, hanging on by a single tiny bolt in the wall, the others having been ripped out from their holes.

He was about to pick up the torch when the shuffling noise started up again. Alphonse whipped around to stare down the dim hallway to see a thin figure staggering away from him. A hand was clinging to the wall to support the swaying body as violently trembling legs carried it down the hallway. Where it was going, Alphonse didn't know, as there was only a dead end in that direction.

"Um…Excuse me?" Alphonse called out uncertainly. Even though his voice was just above a whisper, the figure paused, leaning heavily against the wall, hand clutching another torch as if it was too weak to hold itself up. After a brief pause, the figure slowly turned around, giant black eyes staring dejectedly at him.

Alphonse's mind faltered a little in its recognition. "Your Majesty?"

"I….um…" King Yuuri stammered, he looked back and forth between Alphonse and the hallway as if just realizing where he was and completely oblivious to how he got there from the safety of his room.

"What are you doing outside your room, your Majesty?" Alphonse inquired gently, taking a tentative step forward and feeling relief when the king didn't shy away from his advance.

"I-I…I don't…know," the king said, looking close to tears. "I don't know how I got here." He started to sniffle and rub his eyes.

"Hey now, don't cry," Alphonse cooed, stepping even closer to the king, close enough to touch him. He had his hand extended in a gesture of comfort, but he dared not touch the king, propriety bade him to.

"Your Majesty, let me escort you back to your quarters."

Alphonse's heart went out to the young ruler. The king was visibly trembling, either from the cold or fear, maybe both. He was clad in his sleeping clothes and nothing else. He was barefoot, and a quick glance down showed Alphonse the little red nicks from the rough wood floors of the servants' halls. He looked at Alphonse with so much anxiety and hope, like a frightened child looked to an adult. Again, Alphonse was struck by just how young the king was. He looked to be about the same age as Alphonse, but his manner gave off the impression of someone who is still innocent and just now becoming aware of the dark ways of the world.

"Please, your Majesty," Alphonse said, when the king had yet to take his offered hand. "I'll take you back upstairs to your room and I'll have the maids bring you some tea. Does that please you?"

"Where's Wolfram?" King Yuuri said suddenly, staring at Alphonse's hand.

"Lord Bielefeld is at his uncle's estate, your Majesty," Alphonse replied. Alphonse moved slightly forward, bending his fingers in a beckoning gesture, trying to coax Yuuri into cooperation.

But Yuuri shrunk away from him. "I want Wolfram," He said firmly. "That's…why I came down here….I was looking for Wolfram."

"Wolfram's not here, your Majesty. But, he should be back soon." Alphonse dared to stretch out his hand far enough to brush against Yuuri's wrist and slide down to touch his cold fingers.

The king immediately yanked his hand away from Alphonse and stepped back into the dark hallway. "No! I want Wolfram! …I want Wolfram to come back!"

"And he will come back, your Majesty," Alphonse assured him. "But you must return to your room. That is where he will find you."

This only seemed to upset King Yuuri further. He leaned his entire body weight against the wall, curling in himself, whimpering as his free hand gripped the brass torch holder even tighter. "I don't want to go back there."

"Why not?"

"It's…." Yuuri coughed against the wall.

"It's what?"

"It's…He's there!... With all of them. They won't leave me alone. They won't let me sleep or eat. They're always yelling at me-and he's always there watching me. I don't want to go back. Don't make me go back." His last plea was spoken with such sadness and desperation that it made Alphonse's heart break.

Alphonse wondered if he should alert someone. Maybe have one of the servants fetch one of the generals. They would know how to handle the king in this state. But another part of him thought better of it. He had seen the way crowds of soldiers made the king behave. King Yuuri would become frightened and unruly when the intimidating guards showed up to restrain him. Mayhap, a more gentle approach would be better suited for the disturbed king.

"What if I come with you?" Alphonse offered. "I'll come with you to your room and I can stay there until Lord Weller arrives. Would that suffice?"

Yuuri hesitated, contemplating Alphonse's suggestion. His troubled mind was in shambles and Alphonse was naught but a passing stranger to him. The only person he could trust right now was Wolfram and he was strangely absent from Yuuri's life.

Just when Alphonse was beginning to lose hope, Yuuri sighed resolutely and grabbed Alphonse's hand. He stood up from the wall and took a step closer to the soldier.

"Fine. Promise you will stay?"

Alphonse gave King Yuuri his best smile. "Of course. I will stay until you bid me leave."

His answered satisfied King Yuuri. He nodded and allowed Alphonse to guide him back up the stairs towards the halls of the royals, out of the dank, worn passageways of the servers.

Alphonse held the thin hand, occasionally squeezing it when the king slowed his pace or stopped to stare into some random corner or adjacent hall that they passed. The king would turn his head as if looking back at someone who followed him, but just as quickly he would turn back around, like the vision disturbed him and he would quicken his pace, forcing Alphonse to do so as well.

The pair eventually made their way to the third floor of the castle, Alphonse nodding pleasantly at the surprised castle staff and soldiers, while the king only followed behind him like a well-behaved puppy, eyes big and round, glancing nervously at anyone who came too close to them.

When they approached the door to the king's bedroom, the guards standing watch outside looked at them incredulously. Their mouths gaped open when they saw the soldier tenderly guiding the king, who should have been in bed, to them. They looked at each other, then at Alphonse's disproving face, then at each other again, before looking abashedly at the locked bedroom.

"Your Majesty!' One of them finally sputtered.

"Let us in," Alphonse ordered curtly. The two guards fumbled for a bit, checking their pockets vainly for a set of keys that didn't exist.

"We can't," One of them said sheepishly. "Lord Voltaire and the king's retainers are the only ones who have the key."

Alphonse's eyebrow nearly touched his hairline. "Then how is the king outside his chambers?"

"We don't know."

"Well," Alphonse said. "Find a way to let us in. Can't you see his Majesty is tired?"

"We can't, sir," The second one said. "We don't have the key."

Alphonse was about to scold the two guards when Yuuri pulled away from his grasp and slowly walked up to the door. He placed a thin hand against the lock and paused. The sound of the heavy tumblers shifting and creaking, followed by a loud click signaled that the door was opened. Alphonse and the guards all watched in blank surprise as Yuuri calmly pulled the brass handle and opened the door. The king looked back at Alphonse as if seeking permission to enter his own bedroom. When Alphonse didn't respond right away, Yuuri blandly sauntered into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Alphonse blinked for just a moment before hastily following Yuuri into the bedroom, closing the door on the very confused guards. "Send for the generals," He said over his shoulder as the door shut.

Once inside, he briefly surveyed the wide space that was the king's bedroom. It was as ornately furnished and decorated, as he would have expected. The carpets, tapestries, and paintings were of the finest quality and one of a kind. The furniture was of the best, most beautiful wood crafted by the best artisans in the kingdom. What set the room apart however were the randomly strewn knick-knacks from another world that lined most of the available surfaces in the room. There was also clothes and objects carelessly left on the floor, kicked aside in haste and forgotten where they lay. The night tables were heavily laden with an array of bottles and little tins, no doubt containing various medicines for the king's multitude of ailments.

Alphonse turned his attention back to his king. King Yuuri was standing idly by the bed, hand gripping the post, looking around the room as if it were the first time he had ever seen it and with trepidation instead of wonder. He made no move to seat himself in the grand armchair or lay down on the soft warm bed. He just stared into oblivion, looking lost and helpless.

"Your Majesty?"

"I don't want to be here," He whispered hoarsely.

"You must rest."

"He's here."

"Who is?"

"You wouldn't understand or even believe me if I told you," Yuuri said with a bitter smile.

"Try me," Alphonse replied, walking up to Yuuri and placing his hand on his shoulder, forgetting completely the rules of propriety that so strictly governed their interactions. Yuuri didn't seem to mind, if anything, he leaned into the touch, but his eyes still pleaded with Alphonse.

The troubled king just shook his head sadly and with a weary sigh lowered himself to sit on the bed. His face melted into a blank, emotionless slate. Alphonse took a couple of tentative steps towards him but refrained from touching or comforting him yet. He was still bound by their budding acquaintance and rules of conduct. A part of Alphonse desperately wanted to help the king, comfort him, and tell him that everything was going to be all right. The king looked so forlorn in his hunched position on the bed, staring into some unknown distance of his psyche that was located somewhere between his bare feet.

Alphonse wasn't sure if he should stay or stay and wait for the generals to arrive then leave. He had said he would stay until one of the king's retainers arrived but now he wasn't so sure. His grand ideas of helping and saving his king dwindled when faced with the actual reality and not the imaginings of his idealistic mind. Before him was not the romantic, helpless young king, but a sickly, frightened young man weighed down by illness and his inability to rule his kingdom effectively. Alphonse felt out of place and presumptuous for even considering he could be a service to his king or bringing down the evil Doctor Marko as he saw it.

"You wouldn't understand," Yuuri whispered in a lilting voice at his feet.

"I would if you told me," a part of Alphonse told him he was way over his head and should just smile and promptly fetch the retainers. Alphonse was stubborn, so the voice was quickly ignored when he stood before the king and kneeled down to eye-level, looking up at his master with concern and compassion. "Please, your Majesty. Let me help you."

"I'm so tired."

"Then rest."

"I can't," Yuuri choked out. "I can't sleep. I can never sleep. I'm so tired, but _he_ won't let me sleep."

"Is there something I can do to help you find rest, your Majesty?" Alphonse ventured. "And who is this 'he' you speak of?"

"You won't believe me," Yuuri said again, looking away from Alphonse.

"Your Majesty," Alphonse said in earnest. "I'm not like the others. I will not judge you or ignore you if you tell me what ails you. You are my king and your well-being is the most important thing to me. I can help you if you tell me what is wrong and who is this person you speak of with such fear."

A light flickered across the king's dark eyes. The young king looked surprised at Alphonse. Perhaps he had resigned himself to the fact that his words would fall on deaf ears, no matter who claimed loyalty to him. Alphonse heard the rumors that the king had become a madman, unfit to rule and beyond saving. Maybe King Yuuri had heard them as well and despaired.

"When I'm left alone," Yuuri spoke so quietly Alphonse had to lean in close to hear the faint words that fell from the pale lips of his king. "I see things. I see shadows… People who don't exist... They talk to me and ask me things. They ask for forgiveness, for revenge. Most of them are lost. Others are so hateful, they just want someone to feel the pain they felt when they were alive. I'm the only one who can see and hear them so they decide to torment me. I hate it when the candles burn out, because that's when they appear. I can't sleep because they can't. I'm not allowed to mimic death when they have it for real."

Alphonse sucked in a shaky breath. It was too much like Niklas's stories of nightly harassment by people only he could see. Not thinking, he reached out to place his hand on Yuuri's shaking knee, offering some semblance of comfort for the other man. To his relief, Yuuri didn't reject the touch, but he didn't accept it either, only continued to recount his story.

"I'm exhausted. Conrad and the others don't believe me. They give me drugs that put me to sleep, but when I wake up, they are waiting for me. Sleep is just a series of nightmares for me… Nightmares that aren't mine, but theirs... I wish I could sleep, just once. I would feel so much better."

Alphonse frowned, contemplating what had just been said. He had heard somewhere that lack of sleep could cause hallucinations. Now, Alphonse didn't think Yuuri was hallucinating, but his lack of proper rest certainly wasn't helping his situation.

A light went off in Alphonse's mind, a flash of memory that gave him an idea that might help King Yuuri get the sleep he so desperately craved and needed.

Yuuri watched Alphonse stand to his feet with a concerned look. "Where are you going?"

Alphonse smiled down at him. "I'm going to my room to get something."

"You don't believe me. You think I'm insane, don't you?"

The accusing expression on his king stopped Alphonse in his tracks. "No, that's not it-"

"Then what is it?" Yuuri demanded, gripping the bedpost until his knuckles were white.

"Please," Alphonse said gently, trying to convince King Yuuri of his good intentions. "I do believe what you are saying. I don't understand it. But in the time I have served you, your Majesty, I have never been given a reason to think you would lie about something that so clearly causes you to suffer. It is my duty and honor to help you in anyway that I can. If you are unable to sleep because of these creatures bothering you, then I can only do what I believe will stop them from harassing you. But, in order to do that, I must ask that you excuse me for only a moment while I get something from my room."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Alphonse tried to convey his sincerity, while Yuuri analyzed every feature of Alphonse to find any indication that he was being had. After another second, Yuuri dropped his gaze and nodded resolutely. "Fine, just hurry."

Alphonse gave his best smile. "I promise, your Majesty." Not wasting another second he turned and rushed out of the room. He nearly knocked over one of the guards who was leaning against the closed door. The two guards straightened themselves as best they could under Alphonse's critical frown.

"Erm, My lord," One of them stammered.

"Guards," Alphonse drawled, pinning them under his disapproval.

Confusion and pure disbelief took over the second guard causing him to speak. "How did he get out?" He demanded.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Alphonse said.

"H-He is not supposed to leave his room!" The second guard exclaimed. "We were under strict orders by Lord Voltaire to not let him out. He was supposed to be sleeping!"

"How did he get out then?" Alphonse asked. "Did he order you to let him out?"

The guard's face was growing increasingly pale. "No. Not at all. We don't even have the key. There's no way he could have escaped."

Escaped. Like King Yuuri was a prisoner. "Through the baths then?"

"My lord," The first captain said. "There's no way to get to the baths without exiting the room first. There's only a little washroom in there with no windows or anything."

Alphonse brows furrowed in confusion, he unconsciously tightened his grip on the silent ruler. "A secret passageway?"

"Doubt it, sir."

"Picked the lock maybe while you changed hands?"

"No sir. My comrade and I have been here since the noon meal and he was in there when we took our posts."

"Well, he couldn't have climbed out the window, did he?" Alphonse said with disbelief.

"We honestly don't know," The first guard said, shaking his head to vainly dispel his distress.

This was bizarre. There was no way the king could have left his room without anyone seeing him. Yet somehow, the king has escaped from his room without the guards knowing. Alphonse wanted to believe that the guards were lying, although poorly in this case. He could chalk it up to them wanting to cover their own hides from the wrath of the generals, certainly their jobs would be in jeopardy if it were known that they lost track of the sick king. The logical side of Alphonse wanted to dismiss their claims. Another part though, told him he should look a little deeper than that.

Sighing, Alphonse decided it was best to focus on the present. He had something to do and his king was waiting.

Alphonse barely registered the passing blurs of people and objects as he half-ran back to his room, his feet flew down the stairs, his boots squeaked when he made a tight turn too quickly to get to his hall. His hand grasped for the knob to his room, left unlocked, and flung open the door. He skidded on his knees to the side of his bed, reaching under the frame to grope for a long wooden case. He pulled it out carefully, undid the little clasp and lifted the lid. Inside, where he left it last, was his guitar. It was a gift from years ago when he entered the military academy as a bright-eyed recruit. He traced his hand along the graceful neck of the guitar, felt the taut strings with the reverence of a religious man. It had been a while since he played the instrument and he hoped it wasn't terribly out of tune. Though he was sure the change in temperature and moisture from the outside would have affected the sound.

"Do you remember this, Nikki?" Alphonse said, sparing a glance at the ever-present portrait. "I used to play this for you every day to help you sleep. Maybe it will help the king with his nightmares?"

Imagining an affirmative nod from his lover, Alphonse slung the guitar strap over his shoulder and rushed back towards the king's bedroom. He expertly maneuvered the bulky instrument between the various people and obstacles in his way. It was as if the journey to the royal halls was faster this time, but then again, Alphonse wasn't guiding a mentally disturbed monarch.

He didn't even acknowledge the guards who stood meekly at attention before the great doors and let him pass without a single word. They were most likely questioning the deterioration of their sanity and if the king's illness was contagious. Alphonse didn't have time for such nonsense- he only needed to get to the king.

King Yuuri was right where he left him- sitting in the bed, staring blankly into oblivion. His eyes regained some of their light when he registered Alphonse's presence. He didn't smile, but his expression softened, losing its severity. He watched Alphonse curiously as the soldier pulled up a chair next to the bed, a goofy smile on his face.

"He appeared while you were gone."

Alphonse looked up from tuning his guitar. "Pardon me, your Majesty?"

"Him. The man in black. He came while you were gone."

Long fingers stilled over the strings. "What did he do?"

"He told me that guilt causes delusion with those who survive their loved ones."

"Um, what?"

The king shrugged. "It has nothing to do with you, I guess. He does that sometimes... says weird things about people around me."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

There was an awkward pause between them. The guitar went slack in Alphonse's hands as he contemplated what the king had just said. His thoughts drifted back to Niklas and his illness. King Yuuri returned to staring at nothing, mind blank and expression unreadable.

Alphonse decided it was best to just ignore it and move on. "A long time ago, I used to play this guitar for someone very special to me when he was ill. It helped him sleep better and I thought that it might help you, if you would allow me, your Majesty."

"Someone special to you," King Yuuri whispered, staring beyond Alphonse at a point on the wall, an imperceptible smile ghosted across his face. "I see."

Alphonse had nothing to say to that.

An arbitrary cough and a sniff later, Alphonse began to pluck at his guitar again. "Well, then…"

"Are you going to play something for me?" Yuuri asked, tilting his head cutely to the side.

"Yes, to help you sleep. A man once told me that while medicine heals the body, music heals the soul or something rather droll like that," He added with a wink.

The king only smiled and patiently watched Alphonse tune the guitar. His eyes focused on Alphonse's fingers tripping and gliding over the strings, playing a few notes and random chords until Alphonse nodded in satisfaction at the song. Suddenly, seamlessly, and with a calming smile adorning his face, Alphonse slipped into a quiet, gentle song.

King Yuuri closed his eyes and swayed slightly to the music, losing himself to the beautiful melody. His body visibly relaxed, the room became less stuffy and oppressive. It was no longer a prison of sorts but a lovely sanctuary. The ghosts and shadows retreated into the corners of the room and out of his mind as Alphonse continued to play the serenade.

Alphonse was lost in his own thoughts. Each note of the song brought back so many memories, memories that he had both obsessed over and repressed throughout time. Fluctuating, ebbing and flowing like tides on a shore. Many images, bits and pieces not quite forming a coherent linear moment in time but instead highlighting each turning point in Alphonse's life.

They were both like that for a time. Only the song from Alphonse's guitar broke the silence in the room. They both aware and unaware of what was around them. Both lost in the melody, one finding peace, and the other reliving heartache though not wanting the song to end. As Alphonse relaxed and Yuuri reclined on his bed, the song carried them to another world. Peeling back the layers of time, returning to a different plane of existence that bade them watch and learn from past mistakes.

For Yuuri, the song brought him peace, the lilting, swaying notes lured him into a subconscious states, took him to another place and time that was not his, that was not Japan, but that of someone else. Someone that time forgot, and for the first time, Yuuri slept in peace and dreamed.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

When Yuuri opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his room, but seated under a tall tree.

Instead of the grey, wet weather that had plagued his kingdom for weeks, there was sunshine and a warm breeze, green grass dotted with wildflowers, white fluffy clouds lazily coasted along the blue sky casting shadows on the vast field before him.

It was a beautiful day, a perfect day, a day that had him feeling light and happy. His belly had that fuzzy little tingle of excitement, his cheeks felt warm, and his body lay relaxed against the rough bark. He felt free, light, and invigorated, like nothing could touch him and bring down his wonderful mood.

He looked out onto the field, noticing the long caravan that broke the place where sky and earth met. The carriages, carts and even the horses were heavily decorated with a royal blue that rivaled the sky. Flag and banners fluttered in the wind, regal and proud, like the tribe they represented as they headed towards the lands of the Earth wielders. He too, was with a group of travelers, heading to the same location for a summit held by his tribe to hopefully unite the demon tribes under one banner against the threat of the humans.

That thought brought down his mood slightly. He would never admit it for fear of being branded a traitor, but he sympathized with the humans. They had been driven out of their native homes several times by the various demon tribes. Forced to relocate time and time again when a demon tribe found their land lacking and the humans' land fulfilling. The humans were tired of being pushed around and they united themselves under the Shimaron against the demon oppression. Of course that wasn't the official story that the demon lords would share with their people. No, it was the humans trying to eradicate the great demon tribes and enslave their people and steal their magic and take over the _civilized_ world, in this case, the demon tribes.

A movement from the stationary caravan caught his eye and his heart swelled with joy. A golden head peeked out from one of the carriages, looking around curiously before seeing him against the lone tree. The person was close enough for him to recognize her, but still too far away to see her lovely face, but he knew there was a grand smile for him when she hopped out of the carriage, too rough to be lady-like and walked toward him, ignoring the protests of her nursemaid from inside.

She was beautiful. Everyone knew that. A woman possessing the very best traits of her noble family. Long, blonde hair down to her waist, fair skin, a petite but strong figure, perfect legs, perfect lips, perfect everything. And she was all his.

She looked so different in a dress. She wore the long, billowy skirts of the women in her tribe. A deep crimson edged with gold thread. He could never quite get his mind around the look. He was so used to seeing her in the rough jerkins, leggings and boots of the warriors, covered in dirt and grime, fighting like the best of them. He had to remind himself that he did not share his brother's preferences for men when he found himself aroused by her in men's clothes.

"Hallo!" She chirped, right before she collapsed into his lap, snuggling up to him like a kitten. His nose was filled with wavy golden hair and her spicy scent. All fire wielders smelled spicy, but he could always tell hers from the rest without a second thought.

"Hallo, my love," He said, stroking her head, encasing her in his embrace.

"I missed you."

"And I you."

She twisted in his embrace so that her back was to him. He wrapped her up tightly in his arms, basking in her soft warmth, so unlike the hardened fighter he knew her to be.

"Why are you dressed so fancy today?"

He could imagine the blush on her face when he spoke. She never liked women's clothes, she said they were awkward and troublesome and did nothing to hide her plainness. Hogwash.

"Mother made me," she said. "It would not do for me to come before the demon lords in my normal garb. I am a lady of the fire demons, I must look like one." She tugged at the hem of her skirt roughly. "I look silly."

"You are nothing but exquisite," He whispered in her ear, loving the little shudder that coursed through her slim body. He responded by squeezing her tighter, loving the way her body melded so perfectly with his own.

"Says you," She snorted. "I'm wearing a tent."

"I mean it, love," He said. "Or does my opinion no longer matter to you?"

"It does!" She said quickly, turning to look at him in earnest. "I...just don't like dresses. I trip."

"You're adorable when you're clumsy," He chuckled, tangling his fingers in her hair.

"Hmph."

"My darling," He sighed into her hair, planting kisses along the rim of her ear. "Meine Liebste."

She sighed and relaxed in his arms, turning on her side now to trail her hand up his arm before twisting his hair around her finger absently.

"I wish we could stay like this forever."

"Me too," He kissed her nose and her chin, smiling when she pouted at his teasing. She tilted her head up, lips puckered so cutely for him, but still he continued to ravish attention on her rosy cheeks.

"I wish there was no war."

"Me too." He kissed her chin again, feeling her warm breath on his lips.

"I wish we could live somewhere far away with no one to bother us."

"Me too." He kissed the corner of her mouth.

"I wish it was you I was marrying."

He froze just above her lips. He felt her lips form the words against his own just as he was closing in. He pulled away to look at her. He was pinned by the anger, sadness, frustration and longing in those lovely green eyes. Eyes that were only for him, yet they were promised to another, more "suitable," mate.

It wasn't fair that they should be denied their feelings for each other because of something as capricious as birthright. They were bound by law and duty, forced to ignore their hearts' desire and live life as if it was of their own choosing. But neither he nor she could suppress the growing desire they had for each other without it killing them.

He didn't care that they were in plain sight, he didn't care that her family was just a few yards away setting up camp for the evening, he didn't care that she was his brother's betrothed. All he cared about was her love, her kiss, her heart that only belonged to him.

"Me too, Meine Liebste," He whispered as he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Marko knew it was a matter of time before he was summoned. As a matter of fact, he was surprised it took them this long.

He had been escorted by one of the guards to Lord Voltaire's office, which was funny since they had never seen fit to escort him somewhere before. Perhaps they feared he would try to run away. Where too? It wasn't like he had anywhere to be. His sabbatical from teaching at the academy had been rudely cut short when he received a letter from his now absent student, begging him to come and diagnose the young king. If Gisela hadn't been his top student, if it hadn't been the king of the demons, he would have thrown it in the fire with the rest of the troublesome correspondence he received from various people looking for a miracle.

He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, while his free hand continued its little symphony of tapping against the dark wood of the round meeting table. He assumed that he and Voltaire would not be alone during this meeting, since he was not instructed to sit at the desk, but at a table with two extra chairs brought in from another room.

Just great.

Marko tried very hard not to let his mind piece together the future scenario that would unfold from his memory. It was difficult not to. In his research and years as a healer, he had seen this kind of situation many times with various diseases as the catalyst- patient doesn't respond to treatments quickly or efficiently enough so angry family demands answers from him like he somehow was the culprit.

It was exhausting, it was time consuming, and it was utterly predictable.

The tiny part of Marko that wasn't a jaded doctor understood their feelings. The king's condition had progressed at a rate that left even Marko surprised and even grimmer as to the prognosis of the king's recovery. In the three changes he had studied in his time, the transformation progressed over a span of several months, sometimes as much as a year if the patient survived that long. King Yuuri's was taking only a few weeks. So far, two of the cases he had observed ended in death, and the other one was a nutcase exploiting superstitious rural folk in the Christ province by claiming to eradicate evil spirits. Marko had lost contact and interest in the last one and he had no intention of looking him up. The man was insane and a follower of some weird cult that sprung up on the North that had an ill repute among the locals.

With the limited amount of researchable material available and the nonexistent forms of treatment out there, Marko could say without a doubt that he was only slightly less powerless than his clients. He had studied the king's condition religiously throughout the day. He had taken samples of blood, tissue and fluids. He had conducted observations of the king's maniacal behavior to perhaps try an approach that was less dependent on medicine and magic, both of which where quickly proving to be weak against the effects of the change.

Marko sighed as he watched the large clock tick the minutes by lazily. There was a reason why he no longer practiced medicine. He had little patience for the irrational words of his patients' families. He had no interest in their accusations, their demands or their insults. He had heard it all before and he had never taken their words to heart at all. If he did, then the patient would surely have died. That was the problem with terminal illnesses. People were so caught up in instant miracle cures and omnipotent healers that they easily lost patience or became unrealistic in their expectations of the doctor and the patient, which always negatively affected how treatment went. Even now, Marko knew he could no longer safely increase the strength of the drug they were giving the king to keep him calm. If he did then he would be placing the king at risk for organ failure, and on top of that, the king could become addicted to the drug if he wasn't already. Marko suspected he was.

At this point in time, Marko saw that they had two options, one was to allow the change to take place and endure the mental deterioration of their king or they could 'terminate' the change. One was a slow, painful death, the other a quick merciful one.

The door creaked open and Lords Voltaire, Weller and Christ entered single file. Marko noted that he was made to wait alone while they deigned to appear when it was usually the other way around. He suspected that Voltaire wanted to psych him out, intimidate him, but really all he did was interrupt Marko's research, which only made the doctor less inclined to sympathize.

Again, Marko couldn't stop himself from assumption. How could he not? The demon lords all wore identical masks of indifference and allegation. Six sharp eyes were trained on him, sizing him up, searching for weaknesses, breaks in his armor, anything that could indicate he was playing them for fools. Marko would have found it amusing had he not been the recipient of similar looks thousands of times before. Thus, Marko stared back at them, giving nothing away and steadfastly meeting their stares. He could play the game with the best of them.

He stood up in greeting, though he didn't extend his hand. It wasn't appropriate, and he thought bemusedly that he might loose his hand should he make the mistake of friendliness.

None of them spoke. Fine then, neither would he. Years of military experience and harrowing endeavors left Marko with no nerves to hit or pluck. He had more important things to do then kiss up to some incompetent ex-queen's spoiled sons.

"Marko," Voltaire said in greeting. Marko bit back the sneer that tugged at his lips. He found it annoying when they stopped addressing him as doctor. It was as if he only deserved the title when his treatment was making some semblance of progress. Not like he earned the title from years of work, education and fierce competition. Still, he said nothing. It was petty transgression, still annoying, but unworthy of heated words and snide remarks, when there were more important things at hand.

"Good afternoon, Lord Voltaire," Marko decided, from his own perspective, he would be the better person and use his manners. "Lord Weller and Lord Christ."

The other two men only nodded curtly in his direction, before taking their seats. Voltaire followed suit, never taking his eyes off Marko, who returned the stare evenly, taking his seat as well.

Voltaire wasted no time. "Are you aware of why we called you here?"

'I'm assuming it's not for tea,' Marko thought acerbically. "You are here concerning the king's predicament, yes?" he said.

Voltaire nodded. "We," He tilted his head towards the other lords. "Were concerned about the method of treatment you are using to aid the king during his illness."

"It is not an illness," Marko interjected, not at all concerned that Voltaire seemed to take offense. "It's a transformation that has his Majesty in such a state"

"Be that as it may," Voltaire continued. "It's been a month since his Majesty's collapse and subsequent diagnosis. We have entrusted his care to you and given you the resources that you requested to ensure his care. As you know, his condition has worsened to the point where current treatments are no longer effective and his behavior grows more out of control each day. We have stepped aside and let you do your work uninterrupted, but now we feel that we need some answers from you."

Of course they did. "What kinds of answers?"

"Why isn't he responding to the treatments?" Lord Christ spoke up. In his few encounters, Marko had thought the man incapable of speaking unless it came out as an obnoxious warble over the plight of his king or silence, it was a little odd the hear him speak so plainly.

"The medication being administered to his king is designed to null his symptoms. They are not designed to stop them altogether." Marko explained. "They can only relieve discomfort and make him more manageable for his caregivers."

"The current dosage is doing nothing but creating a lifeless doll out of him," Weller spoke this time, and Marko heard the frustration in his voice. He had seen Weller hovering over the king at all hours, speaking to him in hushed tones as if the boy could reveal the secrets of his ravaged body to the steadfast bodyguard. He knew very little of their relationship but from what he saw they were previously very close, like a father and son. "You said he would still be able to function normally under the medication. Now he's just a shell, he doesn't speak anymore, he just stares at nothing all day and when he does speak, it's incoherent and senseless!" Weller's tone was hard. "And you just keep giving him stronger and stronger doses until he's so incapacitated that he can't even sit up on his own!" He said angrily.

Ah, now they were starting to drop the pretense of calm. Well, Weller was. Voltaire was still a stone mask. Christ was just unnecessary in Marko's eyes.

"Like I said, the medication is designed to null the symptoms. It won't treat the actual problem and since this isn't a disease, it's not like it will go away from treatment alone. The change is simply the king's body undergoing a transition. Much like how the body goes through adolescence. His entire physiology is changing right before our eyes. Would you believe me if I told you that it was perfectly natural and that his Majesty is perfectly healthy?"

"I fail to see how self-harm, hallucinations, aggression and self-starvation are healthy behaviors." Voltaire retorted just as Christ gave a very curt _"No."_

"I didn't mean it to say that they were," Marko replied. "I only mean that what the king is going through now is a typical pattern of behavior that accompanies that change. They are all symptoms."

"No matter how typical it is," Christ said, Marko noticed he was gripping the edge of the table rather tightly, wide-eyed and apprehensive. "These behaviors are not healthy. It's killing him! We have no idea what to do from here. You are our only source of information and you have been content to just show up during one of the king's fits, jab him with a needle and then go back to your rooms. You don't explain anything or even really make sure that the king is safe and well! You act like we're just supposed to go along with whatever you do and not say anything!"

They were upset over his lack of good bedside manners? Well, they may have a point. Marko didn't busy himself with trivialities such as socializing. He saw the world as a series of events, actions and objects. People feel into the last category and thus were an ignorable part of Marko's experience when he wasn't administering treatment or teaching.

"The medication has reached a point were it is no longer safe to increase the dose," Marko said quietly. "I had no intention of changing it or administering more frequently. I told you it was only a temporary fix. Right now, I have nothing else to give him that would be of any use."

"Why not?" Weller all but growled at him, apparently frustrated at Marko's blasé responses.

"My lords," Marko said trying to summon some empathy. "His Majesty is the only Verschmelzung of his kind. There have been less than five reported cases in the past one hundred years. There is little to no information on them. I have researched Verschmelzungs and half-breeds my entire career and have managed to gather very little on the change. All I can tell you is that this is our only method of treatment, since you are insistent that he be medicated to make his care easier." If they were going to point fingers at him, Marko would return the favor. It was subtle comment, but the ripple of tension through the room informed Marko that his comment wasn't appreciated.

"Yes, you are a researcher," Voltaire conceded. "Not a healer."

"I am a healer," Marko said, not understanding why this was brought up. "I just don't practice medicine like I used to."

Weller, no longer content to continue this restrained questioning, just out right said. "Researcher, doctor, it doesn't matter. You are a subject of the king and his servant. You have a duty as a healer of the royal court to do everything in your power to ensure the king's health. You are obligated to share whatever information you have regarding his health with us, every last detail. This is your patriotic duty and you should act as such."

Marko quirked an eyebrow at this, Weller's accusing tone was typical of fathers and father figures, a consuming need to be protective and frustration at not being able to do just that. What interested him was what Weller chose to say. Marko didn't need to be reminded of his duties and the code of conduct it entailed. He knew them well enough to get his job done and navigate the social inconvenience that was life in the medical field.

"I know my duties," He said calmly. "I thought I was fulfilling them up to this point."

"We've researched your background," Voltaire stated, leaning forward in his seat, clasping his hands together in a tight fist in front of him.

"As is the standard procedure, I assume?" Marko accepted this requirement as a now full-time servant of the king, he had nothing to hide and if they didn't like something, so be it.

"You served as a healer during the uprising under the rule of Queen Cecilie Von Spitzweg," Voltaire said, searching Marko for some kind of reaction. Marko made sure to give him none.

'Such a stupid woman,' Marko thought. "Yes, I did for a time. Though, it was because of a shortage of full-time healers. I am a scholar and teacher by trade."

"And you are inclined to behave as a scholar would," Voltaire continued, sizing up Marko with an unreadable expression. Marko calmly shifted in his seat and regarded the three lords, waiting for their next move.

"Yes, I am."

"Lord von Christ," Voltaire gestured towards the other man, who was still gripping the table and probably imagining nasty things happening to Marko, if the far away, contemptuous look was anything to go by. "Has done some research into our archives and found that you have written two books on the subject of half-bloods and Verschmelzungs."

"Yes, I have."

"But we have never found any other writings by other scholars. Other than what you have written yourself, there are no other sources of information."

"Yes, I just told you that." Marko said, allowing just the tiniest sliver of irritation to enter his tone. The straight line of his mouth curved into a tiny frown as he tried to predict how the situation would play out.

Voltaire looked him dead in the eye. "So something like this would be an excellent research opportunity for the scholar who bases his career off of the change and half-bloods."

Marko's gaze narrowed. "Yes, I suppose it would."

"There's no supposing at all," Voltaire said, leaning back into his seat as if he had just stated something of great importance.

Marko had his suspicions, but he wanted to make sure he was right before he said anything in response. "What are you insinuating, my lord?"

"It would be more beneficial to observe the change without the interference of medication or treatment." Voltaire and Marko stared each other down. Both men trying to find some chink in the armor of stoicism they had carefully erected. Voltaire was trying to be roundabout, manipulative even, but he was not a man of subtlety or vagueness, which Marko understood, he wasn't like that either. Marko prided himself in being a master of neither denying nor confirming certain accusations on his character. It was how he had managed to survive his entire life and find success after his early years of desolation.

He knew that Voltaire wanted him to fill in the blank, to come up with an explanation for what he had just stated, to take offense. Marko _could_ have not taken the bait. He could have just sat there stupidly, waiting for Voltaire to try and bait him, but he didn't have the time or the patience, he wasn't in politics for a reason.

"You are implying that I may be withholding treatment or information for the benefit of my research?" He bit the arrowhead and it was bitter.

"I didn't say that." Sure, he didn't. He and everyone in this room were thinking it and that was just as well in Marko's book.

"But you were implying it."

"I am not implying, only questioning," Voltaire said, but Marko didn't miss the grim smugness in his tone. "It would be an opportunity, would it not?"

Something stirred in Marko, a tiny whisper of a thought that spoke to him of earlier years, an accusation that haunted him for his entire life, a simmering anger that carried terrible secrets buried deep within him, the justification for his utter contempt of demons. Voltaire's words hit a little to close for comfort. They questioned his motives, his loyalty, - his _character_. Because he wasn't what they thought he should be, what they wanted him to be. He was less than them. For the first time, Marko felt his stoic mask slip just a tiny bit, letting the tiniest shimmer of anger into his mind.

"If your Excellencies are displeased with the way I am handling this situation, then fine. But do not question my motives when you have ignored my warnings." Marko said icily. "I said in the beginning that this would only get worse and that the only real way to handle this was to keep his Majesty sedated, let him go about his daily business until the change progressed to the point where we had to keep him far away from others for everyone's safety. This was on par with your concerns that his condition _not_ become public to the nobility. Though I do not know how effective that would be since so many witnessed his collapse at the ball. So I feel it unnecessary at this point, but I understand the need for damage control. There is very little I can do, but observe this phenomenon in the hopes that maybe we could discover something that could ease his transformation. But the change can never be stopped."

They were silent. Weller looked like Marko had just coughed up a dead cat, Christ was staring at him with a slight grimace and Voltaire was as blank as he was from the start. Marko surmised that his words had gotten through to them. He could take a lot of strife from many people, but when someone questioned his motives, he became defensive. He was tired of trying to prove himself over and over again to people who didn't know what they were talking about. Marko would not take the full blame for this. He had been acting on the requests and concerns of the king's retainers. He didn't fault them for their concerns, he understood the delicacy such an event would require when gossip and rumors were abound within and outside the castle walls. Nothing was sacred and many would exploit the king's incapacitation without a second thought.

"We would appreciate it," Voltaire said at last. "If you told us everything you know about the change, every detail no matter how insignificant. We also want you to tell us of your plans for King Yuuri's treatment."

"Very well," Marko said evenly, trepidation abated. "I'll start right now. You must now consider the outcome of the change in King Yuuri."

All three of them stiffened in their seats, if such a thing were possible at this point. Voltaire regarded the doctor with renewed suspicion. "How so?"

Marko contemplated show words for a moment. This would have to be treaded carefully. The first case he ever witnessed, the first one to end in disaster had not died of natural causes but of the family's decision to end it after over a year of no improvement.

"During the first case I witnessed," He began slowly. "It was a woman. She was a part of a small village. She was a healer and she could use magic to a degree, though not much. She began the change just after her fortieth birthday. Her transformation was incredibly slow. Her mental state deteriorated much in the same way it is in King Yuuri. In the later years of her condition, her family had to chain her to her bed because she had grown so violent and unpredictable. Finally, after year of being bedridden and exhausting her family's resources. They had her poisoned and they had her body cremated."

Three faces went pale before Marko. Voltaire's eyes were wide and hard as he searched Marko for any sign of jest. The gears in their minds turned, processing what Marko had just explained to them.

"What are you saying?" Voltaire's voice was low and dangerous.

"The mechanics of the change are unpredictable. So far there is no way to see how and when the change takes effect. It's different in each case. This woman was in her forties, the two other cases were young men in their twenties. One managed to survive, the other killed himself in front of his lover, and this woman's family no longer had the strength to help her. The survivor's change only lasted a few weeks, the other lasted months and in this woman's case two years. What I am asking you all is how long are you prepared to care for his Majesty and endure the suffering he will bestow on you?"

"We will never give up on his Majesty!" Christ cried, slamming his fists down and standing to tower over Marko. "How dare you doubt us! We would never do anything to hurt him! We are not some backcountry village! We have the means to care for him as long as he needs!"

"What will you do if there is no sign of reprieve?" Marko shot back. "What happens when there is no way to help him and all you can do is watch him destroy his life and yours? What about the state of this country? What then?"

"Don't tell us how to do our jobs!" Weller growled at him, but still placing an arm to stay the irate Christ who was murdering Marko with his eyes. "King Yuuri means more to us than just our ruler. We will do anything and everything to help him -even if it takes years."

The smile on Marko was both sad and condescending. "The woman's family said the same thing."

"We are not that woman's family," Christ said with finality. "King Yuuri is not her. He is our chosen king, our divinely ordained master and our benevolent ruler gifted to us by Shinou himself! King Yuuri is everything to us and to this kingdom. We will not let him fall victim to this…this affliction! We will save him!"

"His Majesty is the cornerstone of our kingdom," Voltaire said. "We will fight to the end for his well-being and you will do the same. You are our only option at this point, Marko, but do not doubt that we are constantly looking for others, possibly more qualifying individuals who will better serve us." The threat was well noted.

'Good luck with that. Anyone who could have helped you is dead by your predecessors' hand.' Marko thought dourly.

"I understand," He said quietly, inclining his head in submission. " I will apply myself tenfold to unlocking this mystery and find a way to ease and bring about the end of the change in his Majesty before the worst happens."

"You will do that," Voltaire said, nodding. "Or face terrible consequences."

He had been threatened before, but the way Voltaire said it, the way he looked at Marko caused the old doctor to feel an emotion he hadn't felt in decades-anxiety. Marko had met his match in Voltaire.

"I have been warned," he accepted.

"You have been promised."

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Chapter Ten!

Wow, this was a pretty heavy chapter! The first scene with Alphonse and Yuuri ended up being longer than I anticipated but I think it turned out well.

What did you think of the dream sequence? More importantly what did you think of the confrontation with Marko? I'm extremely curious as to what you all think of him now that we've had a chance to see a bit of his personality. He's a bit of a misanthrope, isn't he? This was probably the most fun scene to write in the story so far. Marko is probably my most interesting original character. He's not bad, but he's not good either and he isn't as emotionless as he would seem. There's a history there that will play a part in the mystery surrounding Yuuri's possession.

The odds are stacked against Yuuri and his friends. What's going to happen? The change is very real and very dangerous, but there's something more to it than meets the eye. A terrible secret and cover up that will destroy the historical identity of Shin Makoku.

I was only able to finish this chapter because I'm on winter break from school. I go back this weekend (WAAAHHHHHH!). Updates will be slower, but my goal is every other month if not sooner. I'm going to try for sooner.

Translation: Meine Liebste = My Love (German, used when spoken to a woman with great conviction, a big thank you to Asura-Chan for the English to German translations! Thanks to her, we are all now smarter!)

Thank you to my beta SweetxSnowxDream!

If you have the time to add this story to your favorites, you have time to leave a quick review! They make for faster updates!


	11. Chapter 11 The TwentyFirst Day

Chapter 11! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I get this done! I do hope you enjoy it and I can't wait to hear what you all think of it. Your time and input are very important to me.

I'd also like to remind everyone that this is a story about Yuuri, not Wolfram. I know Wolfram's probably the most popular character in the series, but there are plenty of stories all about him on this website, Yuuri (and other characters) need a moment too, you know.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, I'm only borrowing them for my own entertainment.

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Chapter Eleven – Letter (The Twenty-First Day)

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Gunter looked at the shelves, stacks of artifacts, ancient documents, and despaired.

Two weeks' worth of fruitless searching and scouring of the castle archives had left Gunter, tired, frustrated and congested. The dust in the library and archives were atrocious. There seemed to be a permanent handkerchief attached to his nose and he contemplated just finding a way to fasten it to his nose and free his hands.

It was a pointless endeavor at this moment in time. Gunter was almost done with searching this particularly set of shelves and was ready to go back upstairs for the day. His free hand trailed over the spines of ancient books. Most of them were yellowed, a couple had the front cover missing, years of abuse and neglect showing themselves to the advisor.

Pouring over old books was also a welcome distraction for Gunter. It made him feel less helpless, less useless in the face of his king's torment. It also kept him from imagining terrible fates on the skeletal doctor that was their only hope at this point. Yes, Gunter would continue to search, continue to sniff and sneeze, until he found something that could help them and get rid of Marko.

The meeting with Marko had accomplished little for Gunter. He had wanted it to be a great confrontation, an exposé of Marko's dark intent. They would see him for what he was, banish him and then miraculously save their precious king from harm.

But that was not as it was to be. Marko had doused them with the icy cold water of reality. His brutal honesty and blatant apathy was even worse than just being evil. It ruined their plans, ruined their desire to actually accomplish something, eliminate a threat, even one they had assumed, from the situation and finally - _finally_ - have some semblance of hope. When Marko didn't play into Gunter's pre-determined visage of a villain, Gunter didn't know what to think.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gunter knew that Marko had a point. He hated it even more that his dislike for Marko wasn't enough of a reason to get rid of him. He was still their only way of curing his Majesty and they were forced to endure his attitude problem, because that's what Gunter thought - Marko had a serious attitude problem and it would be fixed by the end of it.

That thought alone gave Gunter comfort. Marko with his foreboding, his faithlessness, and his indifference would be his end as long as Gunter drew breath! How dare the doctor even imply that they might end Yuuri's life just because the situation became too inconvenient? Who did he think they were? Yuuri was more than a king to them, he was their hope, their future, their everything rolled into one beautiful, marvelous, divine young man and they – Gunter most of all - would do anything for him, even if it meant sacrificing their lives!

It was probably the worst insult Gunter had ever heard in his entire life.

The memories of that meeting increased Gunter's efforts. He combed through yet another shelf viciously, opening and flipping through the yellowed pages with incredible speed, eyes darting back and forth, briefly scanning the contents. When that book yielded nothing, Gunter growled and al but threw it back into the shelf with the others. The historian in him would have balked at such disrespect for antique tomes, but the loyal advisor in him really didn't care.

Gunter let loose a series of coughs, the little cloud of dust seemed to be attempting to hinder his progress. Gunter squinted through watery eyes at the final book. It was a large red book with gold trim but no title on the spine or front cover he discovered when he took it out of its place. It was older than the rest. Yellow pages were nearly orange with age and crinkled delicately under his touch. Dust and cobwebs littered the pages as he slowly opened the book, taking pause with his treatment of earlier books.

The book was so old, it was written in the formal tongue, interchangeably known as the ancient tongue of the Demon Tribe. Gunter traced a thin finger over the slightly faded ink, summoning up memories of his lessons on the language from years before. When Gunter was a young student in the academy, it was required to speak and write the formal tongue fluently as many history books and legal documents were written in that language. But after the rule of the 17th demon king, the teaching of the old tongue was considered obsolete once the universal language gained popularity and made commerce easier with human nations. But Gunter had never forgotten it. He just needed time to remember the subtle nuances, the shortcuts, the compounds, and the unusual vowels of the old language.

Flipping through the pages carefully, it slowly dawned on Gunter that this was just an earlier edition of a common history textbook. It was probably his. Gunter never got rid of his books from his earlier education, he found them to be useful for reference and they comprised a significant part of the castle library. But this finding only brought him more disappointment. No longer caring about the condition of the book, he slammed it shut and went to put it back with the other useless books.

Gunter was very disappointed. He had wanted to find something, - _anything,_ that could have given them some insight into what was going on with their King. He no longer wanted to rely on Marko for their only information. He never wanted them to go into their meetings blind and ignorant as they had been. Gunter knew of Marko before he came through his daughter's stories of her time in the doctor's classes while she went through medical school. Gunter knew Marko probably wasn't the type to do something devious, but he certainly wasn't one to feel compassion towards others. He was a strict man of science, unconcerned with such insubstantial things of emotion and relationships. It was probably why Gunter didn't like him at all. Gunter believed that feelings were the foundation of society; Marko just thought they were unnecessary.

He sighed. He really missed his daughter. He was sure that maybe with her medical expertise, she might be able to come up with something. Gisela was always a bright child. She saw openings and opportunities where others saw a dead end. She could help Yuuri. Or at least, she might be able to balance out Marko's callousness. She had also been Yuuri's primary physician since he came to Shin Makoku thus she would know his medical history best and be able to consult them on how to go about treatment.

Why did King Yuuri send her away? Granted, yes, she was needed elsewhere with her relatives helping out with some kind of outbreak in the nearby village of the Christ family. Gisela's area of specialty was communicable disease in lower class communities so it was natural that they should want her aid, but she was needed more here, serving her king and helping him get better. But Yuuri had insisted, even ordered her to go and help the citizens, despite his own failing health.

That was something that frustrated Gunter, that the one time Yuuri would exercise his divine right it would be to send away his head doctor to some little village when he himself was falling apart a the seams. It was King Yuuri's best trait and his worst- the complete selflessness to the point of self-abuse. It baffled Gunter and left him just a little bit disturbed.

Gunter thoughts were interrupted when a worn piece of paper fell out of the old book as he placed it back on the shelf. He watched it flutter to the ground and land between his feet, brushing against him as it went. He picked it up delicately between his fingers, well aware of how fragile old documents can be. The ink on the paper was worn and just barely decipherable, the pages were yellowed and smelled of dust and age. Gunter carefully smoothed out the wrinkles, taking care not to brush his fingers against the ink, lest he smudge it more.

At first, it was all gibberish to Gunter, but upon further inspection he quickly recognized the old formal tongue that went out of use after the reign of the 17th demon king, the only ruler other than Yuuri who was foreign-born and unfamiliar with certain forms of speech.

It was addressed to an advisor - Gunter squinted a little harder - no, to a royal historian. He carefully scanned the words on the page. It concerned a revision of a royal history book and the exclusion of some kind of record or account.

_To His Lordship Benjamin von Christ_

_I have gone over the manuscript for the latest edition of history that you submitted to me a week prior. It is a wonderful piece that embodies the history of our people wonderfully. I would have expected nothing less form my father's most esteemed scribe and historian._

_However, there is something that concerns me. It is the section on the writings of Agares. Such a work to be included in a book that will be made available to all members of the Aristocratic families and the Academy archives would cause too much of an unrest among those whose family history is so closely tied with those events. Not that such an event should not be recorded, but that it is too much for the masses to comprehend in a way that would not invite controversy, something that we do not need in these tumultuous times._

_Agares writes of the Dark One in a favorable light. To write of the Dark One in such a way as to incite sympathy would be detrimental to the purpose of the kingdom. The Dark One was evil, let nothing else be said. He is a traitor, and a madman, we cannot confuse the malleable minds of future generations lest their loyalties wane. The Aristocrats would deem it as blasphemy and both our positions – and lives – would be compromised. _

_The Massacre at Chicane will not be included in the royal archives. I do not feel that such an event should be included in the writings concerning my father's reign. However, you have instilled in me the importance of the preservation all records. Have the section removed and placed in my private library where it will be kept in secret._

_I thank you for all of your work. I cannot wait to see the revised edition when it is completed._

_His Majesty King Alois The Second,  
The Fourteenth Demon King of Shin Makoku  
August 15, 2237 A.S._

Gunter reread the letter and then read it again to make sure that he understood what was being said. It was no secret that editions of history were edited and revised several times over the course of time as languages changed, new rulers took power, and countries fell. The sheer number of historic events would be too much to include in a single volume, so it was practical to include some things and exclude others. But it was what was being excluded that caught Gunter's attention. He knew of the fourteenth king, a young man not much older than Yuuri, who took power after his father's assassination and managed to unite a terribly divided country. From his studies, Gunter knew that the 14th king was a lover of history and culture studies, and didn't shy away from the darker aspects of his country's history. So it was odd that he would personally request an event be excluded from a history book simply because it may cause unrest. Gunter could understand the reasoning behind that, but the King Alois had very little interest in appeasing the nobility. Actually, his entire reign was punctuated by all the arguments and civil disturbance he caused because he refused to give in to pressure from the nobility. It was no secret that Alois and the Aristocrats didn't get along at all.

Gunter's curiosity itched at his mind that way it did when he found a mystery. He quickly went over any information he could remember about King Alois's personal archives. He knew that the castle had been attacked during the thirteenth year of his reign and so much of the archives were destroyed in the mayhem, so that meant that half of all the records in the library were all copies written from the historians' memories.

Gunter carefully folded the letter and placed it back in the book. A million different questions spinning through his head, but the question that stuck out to him was how did this letter, which was well over a thousand years old, make it into this book? Gunter immediately flipped to the back of the book, where the author would have written the published date. He was disappointed when he read the little scrawl on the last page.

_Written by Benjamin Von Christ the Second, copied by Sir Andrew Lloyd ca. 2991._

2991, well after the attack. It wasn't the original, but Gunter couldn't bring himself to put it down. It was the only lead he had. He knew he should probably be looking for more information on Yuuri's condition rather than chasing down some lost tome that was probably destroyed anyway. But the itch of inquisitiveness begged to be scratched and it would not give him peace until he solved his mystery. That, and something was telling him that this had more to do with their current situation than he thought.

Tucking the book under one arm, Gunter exited the library. He would read this book in his own rooms. After that, he would make a trip to visit the archives of the Temple. Surely there would be something there that could help him figure out what was going on and the connection he felt to this letter.

Gunter closed the wooden door behind him, oblivious to the presence watching him.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram could have crawled to Blood Pledge Castle faster than the pace they had currently set for themselves.

Wolfram's mind and spirit felt lighter, his anxiety was gone now that he could finally, _finally_, return to his home, to where he belonged, instead of being held prisoner in the gilded cage that was his uncle's estate. He was going home, he was going back to Yuuri. He couldn't be happier. Actually…he could.

His taste of freedom was greatly diminished when his uncle let him go, but on one condition that had Wolfram questioning his demands – Waltorana would accompany him. The last person Wolfram wanted on this journey was his uncle. There were a multitude of reasons why he didn't want his uncle tagging along. His uncle hated horseback riding so he brought a carriage, which called for more horses, more preparation, more supplies, and more time wasted on Wolfram's part. What made it worse was that Waltorana had insisted on an alternate route that took them away from the paths of any mudslides that may occur because of the sodden earth, which lengthened their trip by almost two days. While it was the smartest course of action it still meant two days they could have saved. It was two days too much for the young demon prince.

Which was why Wolfram was standing on a hill overlooking the small trudging caravan as it ambled like a crippled bear along the road. Wolfram was adamant that he ride on his own horse, instead of in a carriage. He did not want to hear anything his uncle had to say nor did he feel like being in the cramped space being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. He needed to be out in the cold wet air where he could think and train his patience instead of fantasizing about galloping away from his uncle and hightailing it to the castle.

He tapped his foot against the flank of his steed impatiently. He gazed up at the sky. It was pale gray, as usual, but Wolfram had stared at it so much in the past few days that he could tell time based on the particular shade of light gray the sky had acquired. Right now, the low-hanging clouds were a whitish gray, indicating that t was somewhere between mid and late afternoon, probably just before they were to make camp for the night. Wolfram grunted, he hated having to camp out for the night. It meant more wasted time. If it had been just him and his men, they could have made twice the distance in half the time it took for his uncle and his goddamned carriage to reach the outer limits of the Bielefeld territory.

A loud clap of thunder was the only warning they had before a sheet of rain poured down on them from above. No one heard the young demon's string of colorful curses as his day just got even more difficult over the loud downpour. They had gone a lovely six hours without a single drop which had hastened their pace to Wolfram's delight. The clouds had even thinned enough to let a weak glow of sunlight through their gray ranks. But that was apparently over now as the sky darkened to a charcoal color and let its wrath loose on the hapless travelers below. Wolfram's horse whinnied in protest at being wet yet again and fidgeted under his master. Wolfram crossed his arms and squeezed his legs together stopping the creature's movements. They would suffer together whether the beast liked it or not.

Wolfram decided that he and Yuuri would travel far south where there was little rain for their honeymoon. They would go somewhere hot and dry where it only rained once a year, where there was endless sun and heat. As far away from the rain-prone temperate climate where they lived as possible.

Wolfram paused. He had never thought about their honeymoon, he had barely spared a thought for their wedding. It was just beginning to sink in that he and Yuuri would be married within a few months. Wolfram normally would have been smug and delighted at the prospect and he would have gladly reminded anyone standing next to him of the fact. But now, he barely even remembered it. He barely even remembered placing an order for his wedding outfit. It just seemed so blurred and frivolous now that Yuuri was so terribly ill – when they still didn't know where they stood as a couple.

He wondered if they would even make it to their wedding at this point. Everything was so jumbled. His sleep had been plagued with nightmares since he left. He hadn't heard anything from his brothers or anyone for that matter. He had only his tormented dreams to urge him on. They warned him of danger, of Yuuri's suffering at the hands of some terrible being. He had to get back to the castle. He had to see Yuuri and make sure he was alright. He would never rest until he could see, touch, and hold Yuuri close to him to ensure that he was safe.

"Wolfram!"

Only Waltorana could manage to bellow loud enough to be heard over the thunderous rain and slice through Wolfram's mind like a hot knife.

"What, Uncle?" Wolfram wasn't in the mood to be polite. His horse jilted a little under his harsh voice.

Waltorana was unfazed by his nephew's mood. "We are going to turn back and head towards the village we passed through earlier. We can't camp out in this weather."

"But, we're almost there!" Wolfram shouted back, though he really wanted to whine it at him. "It's not that bad! Give it a few minutes and it should clear up."

On perfect cue, another clap of thunder roared and the rain picked up speed, thoroughly soaking Wolfram and his horse, while his uncle stared at him flatly from his dry, warm carriage.

Wolfram's ire was increased when he saw the corners of his uncle's mouth twitch in a weak attempt to hide a mocking smile. Waltorana quickly composed himself and said with absolution.

"Wolfram, we are turning back now. If you wish to stay out here then that's perfectly fine. I and your men are going back to the village and staying in that quaint little inn we saw."

If he wasn't currently sitting on a horse, Wolfram would have stomped his foot in agitation. However, even he could see the dire need to get out of the rain. They couldn't leave the horses tied up outside in this condition and his men were staring at him like wet puppies begging for his acquiescence.

"Fine," He huffed. "But we're leaving at dawn!"

Waltorana said nothing, but gave him a look that said 'if that's what you want to believe' and slammed the carriage window shut after a curt order to his driver.

Wolfram looked longingly through his soaked bangs towards the road that led to Blood Pledge castle. They only had a single day's ride before they would be walking through the huge gates into the capital and another two hours would have had them walking up the stairs into the reception hall of the castle. But it was sadly not to be, instead they were going to backtrack at least two miles to some nameless village to find shelter in a rundown inn for the night and maybe the next day. This was not how Wolfram had planned.

However, logic won the debate and Wolfram grudgingly turned his horse and followed his uncle's carriage back towards the glowing lights of the village.

Wolfram didn't want to admit it, but the dry, warm air of the inn relieved him. As stubborn as he was and as doggedly determined to get home, Wolfram knew he wouldn't have enjoyed a ride in this weather and he wouldn't have made it that far to begin with. Upon their arrival they were greeted enthusiastically by the jovial innkeeper who promptly informed them that the road leading to the capital had been blocked by a mudslide, one of several that had been plaguing the roads in the past couple of weeks. It would take several hours if not a whole day for the road to be cleared.

Wolfram wanted to scream and kick something, preferably something small, cute and helpless upon which he could invoke the same misery and pain he was feeling. He managed to remain silent and calm on the outside, thanks to his active and violent imagination. He imagined throwing bearbees at a target and listening to the satisfying squeaks of their pain to relieve his frustration, as his uncle talked pleasantly with the innkeeper about things Wolfram didn't give a damn about. He was only interested if his uncle would allow him to bribe some village boys with his uncle's money to speed up the clearing of the road.

"Wolfram!"

Wolfram was quickly becoming adverse to the way his uncle obnoxiously barked his name when he wanted his attention.

"Yes, Uncle?" He answered, forcing images of abused endangered animals out of his mind.

"We are being shown our rooms," His uncle said. "Come along now." Waltorana spun on his heel and followed the still talking innkeeper up to their rooms.

Wolfram followed with a huff, secretly glad to be away from the inn's other patrons. They were a mixture of laborers, farmers, merchants, and thugs. He cringed when he saw some of them sizing up his uncle in his high quality clothes. Though not dressed in their royal uniforms. It was still terribly obvious that Wolfram and Waltorana were high class, if not royalty, and high class meant money – money meant a score for any thieves or murderers who might make this little inn their hideout. Even though they were accompanied by their men dressed as civilians, years of traveling with his bad luck attracting fiancé left Wolfram ever vigilant, sometimes on the verge of paranoid.

They reached their rooms, Waltorana immediately entered his room as the innkeeper handed Wolfram the key to his own quarters.

"If there's anything you gentlemen need, please don't hesitate to ask," the old man said with a bow and walked down back to the main hall.

Wolfram was about to unlock his door when his uncle's voice called out to him.

"Wolfram," Waltorana poked his head from behind his door.

"Yes, Uncle?" Wolfram sighed, desperately wanting to be alone for a moment.

"I know this is frustrating," Waltorana said. "But you must be prepared if we have to stay here for a couple of days."

"'_We' _includes you and the soldiers," Wolfram replied, eyes flashing defiantly. "_I_ will leave tomorrow, whether you or anyone likes it or not."

"Don't be stupid. What happens if you break your leg or something?"

"Then I'll drag my crippled corpse to the capital!" Wolfram stated resolutely.

"Hopefully," Waltorana said dryly. "The road will be cleared before it comes to that. However, I don't want you getting any ideas."

"What makes you think I'll get ideas?"

"Because you are the son of Wolfgang Mikhail von Bielefeld and I know both of you too well to expect anything less." Waltorana deadpanned and shut the door before Wolfram could say otherwise.

Wolfram growled and roughly yanked open the door to his room. He didn't stop to take in the look of the place before he collapsed haphazardly on a dusty smelling mattress and worn sheets. He rolled onto his side to glare out of the narrow window at the darkening sky. He hated rain and bad weather with every ounce of his being. The once comforting drone of the ran fall was now an aggravating constant noise that always eked its way into his mind, even when he was nowhere near a window or outdoors. He tried vainly to will it away with the strength of his stare, but the rain continued its annoying patter against the dirty glass.

He tried and failed to keep his thoughts from drifting to the gentle face of his fiancé. It had only been a few days, but it felt like years since the last time he saw Yuuri. He missed him terribly. Every minute he spent away from Yuuri was a minute closer to insanity. The growing feelings of dread ate away at his soul, urging him to get back to Yuuri as soon as he possibly could at any cost.

He missed lying in his bed next to Yuuri. He missed staying up late until the king was fast asleep so that he could cuddle just a little bit closer to feel his warmth. Sometimes, he could get close enough to even smell Yuuri's musky scent, hear his breathing, see the dim outline of his profile in the darkness. There was even a time when Wolfram was brave enough to snuggle up close to Yuuri and place his head on his shoulder, his nose brushed against the warm skin of Yuuri's neck, his hand right above Yuuri's chest to feel the steady heartbeat that put Wolfram to sleep. That was only once, but it was the most fulfilling rest Wolfram ever had. In that position he could be with Yuuri in a way that was unperturbed by their fears and propriety. Wolfram could feel like he and Yuuri were actually together and not this weird limbo of a relationship they had.

He sighed, hugging himself to get rid of the chilling loneliness he felt. Closing his eyes, he tried to force himself to relax enough to sleep. He could pine and obsess over Yuuri all he wanted but it wouldn't make him get home any faster. He was just tormenting himself and he needed his strength if he was to get back safely. He comforted himself by planning his journey come dawn. He went over the various trails and roads that led into the capital and which ones might still be in a safe enough condition for him and his horse. He wouldn't need much – just his saddlebags and some food. He could be at the gates by afternoon if he left in the early hours of the morning.

"Wolfram."

Wolfram's eyes shot open at the soft call. At first, he didn't move. He froze in his spot, a confused look on his face as he tried to determine if he imagined that voice or if his uncle was bothering him again. But there was nothing, only the drone of rain. It must have been his imagination.

"Wolfram." The voice called him again just as he tried to go back to sleeping. This time, he was sure he heard it and it was inside his room. It sounded like it came from behind him, just beside his bed. Wolfram sat up, hairs on end, eyes wide as he scanned the room for any sign of an intruder. The candles were burning low, casting everything in shades of red and orange. The sparse furniture glowed in the light, little shadows flickering across their wooden surfaces. But there was no intruder.

"Wolfram."

There! He recognized the voice that time! He was perfectly straight on his bed now, whipping his head from side to side looking for the owner of the voice. But that was impossible! How could he have gotten here?

"Wolfram."

"Yuuri," he breathed.

A soft giggle. "Over here."

Wolfram looked towards the door of his room. Were there was once nothing, now stood the slim figure of his fiancé. Yuuri was leaning against the door, arms crossed, dressed in his usual black uniform, a teasing smile on his face as he watched Wolfram stammer at his abrupt presence.

"Relax, Wolf," Yuuri said. "It's only me."

"What are you doing here?" Wolfram exclaimed. "How did-"

Yuuri waved dismissively at Wolfram, smile never wavering. "I can always find you Wolfram. Just as you can always find me."

Yuuri straightened from his spot on the door and approached the bed on which Wolfram continued to gawk in disbelief. His movements were smooth, a perfect swagger oozing control and cool, sensual as he glided to the edge of the bed and sat down, the mattress creaking gently under his weight. His eyes never left Wolfram, pinning him where he sat with their intensity. They were dark and flickering in the red candlelight, Wolfram couldn't bring himself to speak or think really he was mesmerized by Yuuri's presence, barely registering a warm hand reaching out to brush a messy lock of hair from his face.

"You and I are bonded," Yuuri's voice was a husky whisper, his scent filled Wolfram's nostrils, his hair feel in thin wisps framing his heated gaze perfectly. "In ways far deeper than we could ever understand. Through space and time, we always find each other. No matter how hard we try to stay apart, we are always thrown together. I don't think even the gods could keep us apart."

"I don't understand," Wolfram breathed, trying so hard not to give in to Yuuri's gentle fingers running through his hair, tracing his chin, and stroking his neck. It was his only explanation, the only way he could accept the effect Yuuri was having on him, and awakening deeply buried feelings within him. He opened his droopy eyes to fall on Yuuri's plush lips as the other man continued to speak, the calm, warm tone of his voice luring Wolfram deeper under the spell.

"We belong to each other," Yuuri continued, his voice lowered to barely a sigh. He buried his hands into blonde locks, gently grabbing the roots and pulled the drugged demon close till their foreheads touched. "You belong to me."

"Yes," Wolfram murmured. It was true. He was Yuuri's, had been for years. He had waited patiently and impatiently for the demon king to acknowledge that. But to hear him actually say it was more than Wolfram could ever wish for. "Yours."

The soft chuckle sent terrific shivers down Wolfram's spine. The hands left his hair and the nearly whimpered until he was gathered into strong arms and cradled like a small child. His stared up through half-lidded eyes at the face of his love, taken by the stormy gaze that possessed him. His eyes fell on those lips again when a pink tongue darted out to wet them hungrily. He had dreamed of tasting those lips, tangling with that tongue. It was so close, so close. It was unreal.

"I'm dreaming," He said, a part of him still clinging to reality, albeit weakly.

Yuuri only smiled wider. "Call it what you will. I am here with you. Only you."

"This isn't right," Wolfram protested, sluggishly shaking his head to rid himself of the wonderful stupor. "You would never do something like this. This isn't like you."

Something sparked behind those dark eyes, but Wolfram was too enraptured to really notice, the smile froze for a split second before regaining its warmth. "Then does that not make this a dream?"

"You said it wasn't," Wolfram pressed.

"I said call it what you will. Whatever it may be, I am here."

"This - I can't."

"If this is a dream," Yuuri said, lowering the limp soldier to the soft bed and straddling him, threading his fingers with Wolfram's. "Then aren't dreams the representation of our deepest fantasies?"

"Let me fulfill your fantasy, Wolfram," Yuuri whispered huskily right before he captured Wolfram in a deep kiss.

Wolfram's shocked gasp was swallowed by a pair of the softest lips he had ever tasted. He struggled weakly against Yuuri's firm hold, but he quickly gave in to his body's urges and Yuuri's touch. His hands grasped Yuuri's with all their strength, holding on with everything they had to keep him near. Yuuri nibbled and pulled at his lips until they were red and swollen, he sucked on Wolfram's bottom lip earning him a dreamy moan from his quarry. He let go of Wolfram's hands, which immediately buried themselves in black hair crushing his mouth to the blonde's. Yuuri in turn wrapped his arms around Wolfram effectively pinning him where he lay.

Wolfram didn't think when Yuuri's nimble fingers pulled at the collar of his shirt. He didn't flinch when Yuuri pulled away his shirt. He shuddered when cool fingers glided over his hot skin, over his collarbone, his shoulders, his neck. He whined when Yuuri's tongue traced along his mouth as his warm hands cupped under his chin. He sighed when they slid down to curl possessively around his…

Wolfram choked into Yuuri's mouth when his airway was suddenly constricted by a firm grip. "Yuuri! " he gasped, looking up at him reproachfully. "Stop!"

Yuuri said nothing, but his face morphed from a playful, sexy smirk to a cold smile as his eyes darkened and narrowed to slits as his hands clamped down tighter on Wolfram's pale throat.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram choked, hands flying from Yuuri's shoulders to claw at his hands that only tightened painfully around Wolfram's neck. He tried to shout, to tell Yuuri to stop, but his windpipe was slowly crushed under inhuman hands. Tears pricked at his wide eyes that stared in fear up at his fiancé, who only flashed a toothy smile at Wolfram's desperate expression. Yuuri straddled Wolfram and sat his full weight down on the blonde, further hindering his efforts to break free as he added more pressure to his iron grip.

When Wolfram sputtered in kind, Yuuri let loose a throaty, deep chuckle, nothing like the boyish giggle the young king was known for. He shifted to a more comfortable position on top of Wolfram, smiling wider when Wolfram hacked when the pressure increased briefly. He seemed to take pleasure from watching Wolfram's face drain of color. He was so enraptured by Wolfram's sputtering noises that he didn't appear to feel Wolfram's nails scratching and clawing at his skin. If anything, it only amused him further. He leaned forward to brush his lips against a sweaty ear.

"You Bielefelds are so pathetic," He hissed, voice far too low and grating to be the boy king's. "You're just the image of the lovelorn figure. Pining, and yearning your life away. Wanting everybody to feel sorry for you. So stupid."

Wolfram could only wheeze in response.

"Oh stop it!" Yuuri hissed. "You deserve this! You think I would love you now? Did you think that gaining a new body in a new era would make me forget what you did? I hate you now as I did then. Your simpering longing only irks me further. Traitorous whore!"

Wolfram didn't hear what he said. His ears felt like they had rags shoved in them, his vision was growing darker so he couldn't see red lips pulled in a sneer as they cursed him. The pain was dulling, his head was spinning, and the last thing he saw before everything went black was dark eyes staring coldly down at him as his life was drained away.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

He couldn't tell if it was the drugs, the music, or both, but Yuuri was on air.

He hadn't had this much clarity in ages. Eyes closed, long nightshirt billowing out around him, he swayed – _swayed_ - around his bedroom, Greta's playful laughter a lovely accompaniment to the jaunty notes of Alphonse's music. Daughter's little fingers in his hand, he twirled her around the bedroom, smiling wider than he thought humanly possible, feeling better than he thought possible, feeling happier than he thought possible. Happier then he had been in days, months – hell, in years.

For a moment, just a fleeting brief moment, Yuuri felt like everything was okay. He could relax a little bit, enjoy his time, no pain, no suffering, no torture, everything as it should be and more. Alphonse's songs took him to a better place, kept him grounded in the weak sanity he had left. Greta's smile gave him hope and he realized how much he had missed her smile. She had been sequestered into a remote part of the castle far away from him and anything he might do, since it was obvious that he no longer had control over his own behavior. But today, he was feeling good and Greta was allowed to visit her father. Upon entering his bedroom, Greta enveloped him in a strong hug, chattering a mile a minute, inquiring after his health and the like, before noticing Alphonse sitting awkwardly in a corner. She stared at him for just a moment and then excitedly asked him to play something upon seeing his guitar lying across his lap.

This brought them to their current moment of carefree happiness. Greta jokingly insisted that he be the woman as they danced, since she was wearing her day clothes – a pair of loose trousers and a feminine tunic – while he wore his shirt like a dress. Yuuri was happy to comply and they danced clumsily about as Greta tried to spin him and lead him through the dance which was often interrupted by their fits of giggles.

There was also an underlying sense of nostalgia for Yuuri. He kept recalling images of his first years as king, his time on the ship with Beatrice and her uncle. The first time he had ever danced with a "noble lady." He remembered the awkward dance lessons with Gunter and then a jealous Wolfram. Back when he was bright eyed and optimistic, back when everything was new and wonderful and adventurous. Back when he cared.

Yuuri cared now, but not like the all-encompassing, heroic, innocent way he had then. It was more of a cared-enough-to-get-the-job-done kind of thing. It was strictly duty and business, rarely anything more.

He couldn't remember when he started to feel this way. It had crept upon him so slowly that he didn't realize his dull attitude until it was painfully apparent to him. He looked forward to his everyday life with a sense of grim resolution, he no longer playfully avoided his duties but faced them like a man faced death – cold acceptance. He supposed that was preferable to not doing his work, but it felt so forced. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually enjoyed his role, felt the same pride when he did something great for his kingdom. He just went through the motions, everyday, doing whatever was asked of him without complaint. It got things done, but it left him drained.

That's why he craved moments like these. Moments with his daughter, who represented the last bit of innocence that had left him long ago. He wanted it and protected it viciously. He never let Greta get bogged down in the duties of a princess. Some would say he spoiled her, but Yuuri wanted Greta to enjoy her teen years in the way he never got to. So he danced like a woman, curtsied and glided under Greta's direction, laughing and speaking in a high feminine voice, while she responded in a manly growl, both of them trying hard to hold back their giggles.

Yuuri glanced to the side to see Alphonse playing away on his stool by the bed, eyes glazed over as his fingers plucked at the guitar, changing the key and then the tune as he began a new song. Yuuri knew very little of the soldier. He had only seen him a few times in the past and from a distance. He knew that he was Wolframs lieutenant, a peer from the academy, but nothing more really. He had come into Yuuri's room like some sort of godsend with his guitar – Yuuri didn't even know they had guitars in this world – and offered to play for him. It turned out to be the best medicine Yuuri had ever received. He slept better, his appetite had returned a bit, and the nighttime ghouls let him be when Alphonse played him to sleep. He was eternally grateful and planned to keep the soldier around as long as possible.

A sharp knock on the door brought the euphoric moment to a screeching halt, the music stopped cold, Greta nearly tripped him with the suddenness of her stop. The moment was gone and Yuuri sorely missed it and was angry at whoever dared to ruin it.

"Enter," He said grudgingly, a glance at the clock told him it was time for Marko's visit. He let Greta go and moved to sit on his bed, motioning in for her to sit next to him. He needed her close, needed her presence to keep him grounded as he went through this terrible ordeal. He noticed Alphonse stiffen next to him, hands gripping the guitar neck a little tighter than necessary.

Marko entered like a shadow. His face still fastened into that cold, calm mask. He carried no basket or needles or drugs. His hands dangled limply at his sides as he walked further into the room.

"Hello, Dr. Marko," Yuuri said evenly, relaxing back into the bed for his examination. He watched Marko calmly stand before him with a slight bow. Yuuri motioned for Marko to sit in his usual spot, which the doctor complied.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty," Marko said.

"Where are the medicines?" Yuuri asked, gently wrapping an arm around Greta's small waist and pulling her close. Greta eyed the doctor with suspicion. She overheard some of the conversations her uncles had about him, and the picture they painted wasn't pleasant. She protectively wrapped her own arm around her father, gaze never leaving Marko.

"You're not due for another dose for a while, your Majesty," Marko said. "But, I am here to speak with you about the next course of treatment."

"Oh," Yuuri said, looking down at his hand in his lap. As much as it pained him, he turned to Greta. "Greta-chan, why don't you go see if the maids need help preparing lunch? I'm sure they'd be happy to have you."

Greta hesitated, sensing her father's discomfort. She opened her mouth to protest but a hard look from Yuuri made her stop and she reluctantly let go of him and walked quickly out of the room, shooting a hard stare back at Marko for interrupting her time with her father.

Yuuri didn't want her to leave. He would rather have her stay. But judging by the look on Marko's face, he didn't want Greta to hear what was being said in case it wasn't good.

Once Greta was gone, Yuuri turned his attention back to Marko. The doctor looked pointedly at Alphonse who remained silent and fixed upon his short stool, still holding his guitar across his lap and regarding Marko with thinly veined distaste.

"He's staying," Yuuri said, noticing Marko's dismissive look.

The corner of Marko's mouth twitched, but the mask remained calm as he returned to look at the king. "Your Majesty, it has become apparent that we discuss the course of your treatment from this point forward."

"Really? How so?" Yuuri leaned forward in interest.

"Well, seeing as how you're not responding to the current dosage, we must try to find new ways of going about your treatment," Marko explained.

Yuuri's brows furrowed in concern. "What other treatments are there?"

"None really," Marko said calmly as Yuuri visibly tensed. "We have two options at the moment; I can continue you give you the elixir at a smaller dose or we can begin to wean you off of it. If we continue like we are now, then you may become addicted to the medicine."

"Oh," Yuuri said softly, nodding in agreement. It was as he had feared when he first started taking the drug cocktail. He knew one of the base ingredients was laudanum, a powerful narcotic and highly addictive. Even now, he could tell when his body was low on the dose. He didn't even need a clock to tell him when he needed more, he could just feel it by the way his body began to twitch and the headaches would start. He was glad that Marko didn't want to up the dosage; he would have had to protest then.

"Your Majesty," Marko began the somber and final note to his tone made Yuuri look up into those icy grey eyes. "We have reached a plateau in your treatment. I have spoken with your retainers and I have told them the same thing. You are only just beginning the change. Whatever you experience now will not get better, if anything it will just continue to deteriorate until your body gives out. There's really nothing I can do at this point."

There was no outward show of sympathy on his face, but there was no cruelty either. Yuuri only saw a tired, jaded doctor with very little in this world for him to live for – only his work, and Yuuri wondered if that was worth anything. Marko let out a slow sigh as he stared at Yuuri. The young king was disheartened at this sentiment, but he wasn't surprised. Yuuri had been aware that his body wasn't handling the change as well as it could have. But it was one thing to now it and another thing to have someone else speak it aloud. Saying it only seemed to set it in stone and do away with any hope of a speedy recovery.

Yuuri stole a glance at Alphonse, who remained stony and silent the entire time. His expression was blank and hid a steadily growing contempt. Yuuri quickly looked back at Marko, knowing that Alphonse was too caught up in his own issues to really offer support at the moment.

"What…What's going to happen then?" Yuuri asked timidly, his fingers bunching up the covers underneath him.

"I can continue to give you the medicine and place you on bed rest," Marko said. Was it Yuuri's imagination or did Marko's features suddenly soften? "There's also something else you must consider, your Majesty."

"What is that?" Yuuri didn't like the sudden change in Marko's expression. It pitied him.

"This change may progress to the point where there will be little to no chance of recovery," Marko explained. "If that happens, you will be stuck in limbo, constantly in pain and unable to function as a healthy young man. You won't be dead, but you'll be close enough to it. You need to start thinking about what to do when that time comes."

"About things like what?" Yuuri asked, despite dreading Marko's answer.

Marko hesitated. He didn't want to have this discussion in front of a non-relative. He cut a glance at Alphonse, who seemed intent on setting Marko afire with the heat of his gaze.

"If it comes to worse," Marko began, carefully choosing each word. "The change may have to be terminated and you could die."

Yuuri felt the color drain from his face. It was as he had feared since the beginning. There was nothing anyone could do to help him. He was left to endure this alone with only the saddest of ends to await him. More than ever, he wished Wolfram was beside him, just the blonde's presence would have been enough to give Yuuri comfort at this news. But there was only an empty space beside him, and Marko's expectant gaze in front of him.

"So," Yuuri voice quivered. "Either way, I'm not going to make it. It's just pointless, isn't it?"

"There's still a chance you could pull through," Marko said. "Albeit a small one. I'm only telling you the absolute truth so that you are aware of what may happen."

"W-What should I do?" Yuuri asked, feeling small and scared at this terrible prospect.

"I can continue to give you the medicine to regulate your symptoms or we can wean you off the drug altogether and let the change run its course naturally."

Yuuri thought about that. Not taking the medicine might speed up the change and then he would recover faster. But if he did stop the medicine, he would go through withdrawal, his behavior would become more erratic and he would place his friends in danger.

Yuuri wasn't someone who dwelled on things too long and he decided. "I want to continue the medicine. It will make things…easier."

Marko nodded, clearly in agreement with this turn of events. Alphonse made a small, choking noise and Yuuri had to look at him. The soldier barely concealed his trepidation at Yuuri's words. He couldn't understand why Alphonse seemed to antagonistic towards Marko, but whatever the case was, Alphonse did little to hide his dislike of the doctor.

"Very well, then," Marko replied. "We'll talk of this more when your retainers are available. In the meantime, I will prepare another dose for you. Excuse me, your Majesty." Barely waiting for Yuuri's dismissive nod, Marko rose from his seat and glided out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, leaving the two men alone in the room.

Shoulders slumping, Yuuri hunched forward to bury his face in his clammy hands. His joyous high from earlier was thoroughly ruined thanks to Marko and that bit of information. He briefly contemplated calling for Greta again to somehow salvage what was left of his carefree moment, but he knew it would be a cheap comparison and his thoughts would be plagued by Marko's cold delivery of what was the biggest threat on Yuuri's life he had ever encountered. Yuuri almost wished some country would declare war or spontaneously attack the capital. That he knew how to deal with - not this unseen enemy from within, not this disease that slowly drained his sanity and his life.

Yuuri lifted his face from his hands when he felt a warm touch on his back. He looked up to see that Alphonse had moved from his perch in the corner to lean over Yuuri as he rubbed his back soothingly.

"Your Majesty?" Alphonse inquired.

"Call me Yuuri," the response was so automatic, Yuuri didn't even realize when he told people to call him by his name.

Alphonse only nodded, but continued to rub little circles across Yuuri's tense back.

"I don't know what to do, Alphonse," Yuuri whispered after a while, settling into the comfort of Alphonse's touch. "It just seems to be getting worse and worse. Sometimes, I wonder if it's even worth it, if I'm really going crazy and there's nothing to be done. I'm a lost cause."

"Don't say that, your Majesty!" Alphonse said, maybe a little too harshly as Yuuri glanced up at him with a look of mild surprise. No one dared raise their voice at the king and Yuuri had gotten so used to it that hearing Alphonse speak in such a way was jilting. "You will get through this, I know you can!"

Yuuri smiled sadly up at the soldier. Alphonse was always so kind.

"I doubt it," Yuuri said glumly. "From what Marko's said, I'm pretty much fighting this blind. There is no information on the change. The prognosis is bleak from what little we've been able to find out and - ." Yuuri's voice unexpectedly broke when the gravity of the situation suddenly toppled onto him and he buried his face back into his hands. Just thinking about the cold facts of his condition alone made him despair. Coupled with the nightmare and eerie visions of the dead that haunted his every waking moment, it was unbearable. He could survive, but that chance of survival was so slim and even if he did make it, Marko stressed that he would be mentally damaged for the rest of his life. If that was the case, was it worth the effort to go through with the change when he would be left just a crazed shell of his former self? Could he do that to his friends? What about his kingdom?

The hand rubbing his back glided over his shoulders and pulled him into a gentle hug. Yuuri leaned into the embrace, resting his head on Alphonse's shoulder. With no fiancé about, Yuuri sought comfort where he could find it and Alphonse was willing to give it to him. His retainers were too preoccupied with keeping the kingdom running amidst the torrential floods and ensuing chaos that rained outside his window. They came when they could to console him, but the kingdom always came first and Yuuri made sure it came first to them, no matter what.

So he only had his daughter and this strange soldier with the guitar. Everyone else was out of commission for the moment.

"Surely there must be something," He heard Alphonse whisper fiercely, the arm around him tightened. "There's no way in the history of this world that this is the first time this has happened. There has to be someone who knows something of this! Not just Marko."

A tiny pinprick of a memory itched at Yuuri's consciousness. A faded conversation he had with Marko that seemed to have been an eternity ago. Someone else who knows...

"Marko did mention that there was someone else who went through the change," Yuuri began hesitantly, doubting the accuracy of his frazzled mind. "Another Verschmelzung that lived somewhere near the Christ territory, I think. But I don't know if he's still around or not."

Alphonse straightened to look Yuuri in the eye, a spark of determination on his face. "Another Verschmelzung? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I forgot. I was kind of busy at the time," Yuuri said simply, recalling with sadness the last days he had a clear, working psyche and how it was all destroyed in a matter of days.

"Right."

"I don't know anything," Yuuri said quietly. "I don't know his name, where he lives, or if he's still sane or not. If my luck is any indication, he's probably dead."

"Don't say things like that," Alphonse chided gently, returning Yuuri back into the hug. "There's always hope."

They didn't say anything after that. Yuuri wanted to protest and tell Alphonse that hope was dead to him. But the way Alphonse comforted, the way he said things, made Yuuri hesitate.

"You should talk to Marko about it," Alphonse said after a while. "He should know something, since it's his life work and all." Yuuri didn't miss the sneer in Alphonse's voice when he said "life's work." Yuuri had to agree.

"I want to," Yuuri answered. "But from the last time we talked about it, he didn't seem like he wanted to discuss it with me and he said himself that there wasn't something right in the head with that guy. Maybe he's crazy and locked up somewhere. The only thing that would do is make me even more depressed if the only other Verschmelzung was a lunatic."

"It's worth a try, your Majesty," Alphonse said. "If what you're saying is correct, then you really don't have anything to lose if you do seek this person out."

"Yeah…" Yuuri said. He pulled away from Alphonse and shifted back so that he was completely seated on the bed. "I'm tired now. Would you please come back later."

Alphonse blinked. Yuuri was suddenly being cold to him. He wanted to say something else, but Yuuri's suddenly icy stare stayed his tongue. He obediently got up from his spot at Yuuri's side, trying not to blush at the fact they were so close, picked up his guitar and made his way out.

When his hand touched the door handle, Alphonse summoned enough courage to speak.

"Think about it, your Majesty." With that, he was gone.

Yuuri watched Alphonse leave, not moving from his position on the bed. A part of him wanted to call Alphonse back, to have him play one last song, but the Presence that lurked behind him wouldn't allow it. Yuuri grimaced when he felt Him move out from the shadows to sit behind him, placing icy cold hands on his thin shoulders, so cold they burned him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Such a well-meaning young man," He said, mockery dripping from every word.

Yuuri said nothing. He doubted he could if he wanted to. Long fingers trailed to his neck, stopping any idea of a cry for help. Yuuri desperately wanted to call fro Alphonse, for anyone, but Yuuri knew, and He knew that there was nothing to be done.

"He can't save you," He continued, pressing into Yuuri's neck with sharp nails. "None of them can. You're just a burden. A lost cause."

"No-no, I'm not," Yuuri choked pitifully, the fingers tightened. "They will help me. They have to. I will get better. You'll see. I will."

"You really think they'll stick around long enough to help you?" He hissed. "They'll soon grow tired of you. I'll make sure of it. Soon, they will wish you dead for all the trouble you caused."

"No, they won't," Yuuri protested, but even his protests were weak against Him.

"Yes," He insisted. "They'll do you like they did me. When it becomes too much, when they can't control anymore, they will leave you."

He raked his sharp fingernails across the delicate skin of Yuuri's throat. It was like ice being dragged across his skin, Yuuri shuddered into the touch, unable to getaway. His mind was still screaming for Alphonse, someone, to come in, to make Him go away.

"Such a pity," He murmured, almost contemplatively, running cold fingers through Yuuri's hair. "You held such promise, the shining light of this kingdom."

The hand in his hair suddenly coiled itself into his locks and yanked his head back roughly. Yuuri cried out in shock as his head was craned back painfully, exposing his throat to His lips.

"No more, no more," He sang, teeth grazing along the skin of his throat, cold breath making goose bumps appear on trembling flesh. "You and this kingdom will be no more."

The scream was cut short when His presence overwhelmed Yuuri, dragging him into His world of hatred and malice, a place where Yuuri spent most of his time.

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Waltorana banged impatiently on the door of his nephew's room. He hadn't seen the young mans since last night and missed him at break fast. He thought for sure the hot-headed man would be up before the crack of dawn, screaming everyone awake and demanding they clear the roads to he could get back to the capital.

The status of the roads was inconclusive, a few local trackers informed Waltorana that the road conditions were bad but there were a couple of smaller roads that were passable though not in the best of shape. That would be enough for the demon lord as he was sure that if kept waiting a second longer, Wolfram would do something terribly foolish, if he didn't kill everyone in the village to just to relieve his anger.

"Wolfram!" Waltorana barked at the door. "Are you still asleep? It's nearly one in the afternoon! I thought you wanted to leave! Wolfram!"

In his frustration, Waltorana reached down to fiddle with the handle. He paused when the knob turned without fuss and the door creaked open. Waltorana cautiously entered the room, looking around for his nephew, but there was nothing.

Waltorana turned his attention to the bed, confusion growing when he noticed that while the covers were in place, it was apparent that someone had lain atop them and left them askew, but there was still no sign of Wolfram.

A pang of worry grew in Waltorana as he walked around the foot of the bed, looking vainly for the young demon lord. He froze in his track and gasped aloud when he came around to the other side of the bed that was hidden from the view of the doorway. He fell to his knees in a panic, reaching out to shake the limp form of his nephew sprawled on his back.

If only to scare Waltorana more, Wolfram's eyes were staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Wolfram! Wolfram!" Waltorana shouted, shaking him roughly. "Someone get help!" He shouted out the still open door, he placed his ear at Wolfram's mouth to see if his nephew still drew breath.

Suddenly, Wolfram's body convulsed with a great heave, arching off the floor and gripping at the wooden floorboards. Wolfram came alive and shot up from his spot, nearly knocking over his worried uncle. He looked as if he had awoken from a terrible nightmare, glancing around the room frantically for his imagined assailant.

"Wolfram!" Waltorana exclaimed, this time in relief at the sight of his coughing ward.

At the sound of his voice, Wolfram finally noticed his uncle's presence. He glared at Waltorana, trying to remember who the other man was. Waltorana slowly reached out a hand to Wolfram, but as soon as his fingers brushed against Wolfram's shirt he jerked away from his uncle, crawling backwards until he hit the wall, still staring at Waltorana as if eh were the stuff of nightmares.

"Wolfram!" Waltorana said as gently as he could. "It's me, your uncle. I just want to help you."

"Uncle?" Wolfram breathed, the tension slowly leaving his body as recognition dawned on him.

"Yes, it's me," Waltorana said, reaching out again, this time, Wolfram didn't recoil. "What happened? You worried me."

Wolfram looked around the room before settling on his uncle. "I-I don't know."

"Why were you on the floor?"

"I-I don't know," Wolfram whimpered. "I don't remember."

"Let's get you-" Waltorana paused as his gaze landed on Wolfram's neck.

"What?"

"Wolfram, " Waltorana said breathlessly, touching Wolfram's collarbone, pulling at the lapels of his shirt. "What happened to you?"

Wolfram looked at him confused. "What are you talking about?" Wolfram remembered nothing of the previous night – was it morning yet? – only tiny images flickered across his memory, but nothing that would yield coherent information as to why his uncle was looking at him as if he just grew a second head.

Waltorana said nothing, but grabbed Wolfram's arm to help him up. He guided the dazed and staggering younger man to the washbasin and mirror that were perched atop a small table. Waltorana positioned him in front of the small oval mirror and Wolfram gasped in horror as he too saw what had made his uncle react so.

The collar of Wolfram's white undershirt was pulled open, revealing blue and purple hand-shaped bruises that covered the entire expanse of his throat.

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Chapter Eleven!

Yuuri and Alphonse are now aware of the other Verschmelzung!

Will Yuuri survive the change?

What did the letter Gunter found mean?

How many of you thought I killed Wolfram off? :P

Thank you all for your continued support. I apologize for the long wait, but school and work have taken precedence over any creative projects I may have. But, I do hope you found this chapter interesting.

Is it just me or has this fandom been kind of dead lately? Hardly any new updates/stories and this fandom is saturated with clichés.

I think they need to publish the original Kyou Kara Maou novels in English or renew KKM for a fourth season to get these fan fiction juices going again! Who's with me?

I must have signed that petition thing at least 15 times.

In the meantime, I've published two new stories, be sure to check them out. One is actually a collaboration with Dreamerswalking called Last Breath. I must note here that she wrote the characters as OOC and since I agreed to continue her story on her behalf the characters will remain somewhat OOC, (but I will keep that to a minimum).

The second is a short story called "You're Not Here" centered on Wolfram, Adelbert, and Yuuri. It's rated M for violence and sex! Lots of yaoi SEX! Please give that one a go!

As always, I love hearing from you guys. It really helps me with my writing.

Lastly, I would like to extend my deepest wishes for a safe and quick recovery for the people of Japan! Please keep this wonderful country in your thoughts and prayers and please consider making a donation to the relief efforts. We must show our gratitude to this country for the wonderful anime they have given us since the 1960s. God Bless You Japan!

Love - EB


	12. Chapter 12 The Twenty Second Day

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 12

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter Twelve: Merge (The Twenty Second Day).

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Alphonse needed a word with Marko and nothing was going to stop him.

After he had serenaded King Yuuri for the night, Alphonse had returned to his own quarters, thinking of what he had just learned. Another fused being! Possibly still alive somewhere in the kingdom! The prospects were slim, but Alphonse knew that if he just had the time and the resources he could track down the Verschmelzung that may hold the answers to their problem. If he could find the man then he might be able to help them cure Yuuri or at least make his transition smoother.

Even if the other fused being didn't have any useful information, just the fact that he was alive would give them all some semblance of comfort that there was hope that Yuuri could pull through intact. They wouldn't be sailing on blind faith alone, they would have answers!

So the next morning, after he visited Yuuri in his room and teaching the king a few folk songs on his guitar, Alphonse made his way to the second floor where the higher-ranking servants lived. He had ignored the curious stares of the maids as he left the royal halls. He knew that his frequent visits to Yuuri's room were being noticed. He wondered if the generals knew yet. They probably did, very little the king did slipped past their attention, unless the king himself made a dogged effort to keep them ignorant and even that took cunning. Maybe they were just biding their time and watching or maybe they saw the benefit of Alphonse's presence and the soldier never spent the night so there was little evidence for scandal – at least he hoped. If there was anything the nosy maids could do it was make a mountain out of a molehill and what was an innocent exchange between friends could easily turn in the biggest sex scandal of the century with a few well placed words and an over analytical audience. Alphonse did not want that to happen, especially when his relationship with the king was growing nicely, he felt a sense of protectiveness and affection for his king and once he had spent time with him, Alphonse understood why the generals and Bielefeld served him so loyally. Yuuri was simply a treasure. A smart, gentle, sweet young man with nothing but good in him. It was so foreign to meet someone so genuine. Alphonse wanted to be a part of Yuuri's life for as long as he could.

Alphonse pulled himself together when he reached the dark wood door of Marko's rooms. He hoped this was the right one as none of the doors in this hallway were marked or distinguishable from each other. Alphonse had to make an educated guess based on the information he had gotten from a maid.

Hoping this was it and preparing an apology in his head if it wasn't, Alphonse knocked on the door three times and the stepped back to give the occupant some room to open the door. He folded his hands behind his back and listened to the sounds of shuffling and footsteps drawing near to the door, the sound of the handle turning and the creaking of the hinges as it was confirmed that this was indeed Marko's room.

Marko eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he recognized his visitor and then immediately narrowed into annoyance when memory caught up with the man standing in front of his door. Alphonse worried for a moment that Marko would slam the door on him and lock it light. But for once, Alphonse wasn't here to start a fight or make accusations - that could come later. Right now, he needed something from Marko, anger and buried wounds would not help him get what he wanted.

"Dr. Marko," Alphonse greeted, inclining his head politely.

Marko just blinked at Alphonse for a moment, not quite understanding why the younger man would suddenly show up to his private quarters and act civil.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Marko asked, not bothering to greet Alphonse back.

Alphonse pulled himself up to his full height, looking ever confident and not at all nervous like he was really feeling. "I would like a word with you, If you're not too busy."

"Is this about his Majesty?" Marko's lips quirked bemusedly, he and Alphonse knew the answer to that question.

But Alphonse wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being right. "What if it is?"

"Then I would wonder as to why a simple soldier would become so invested in his Majesty's health so much so that he would come to my door, alone, in the middle of the day."

"And I would say that's none of your business and that's not why I'm here," Alphonse replied, edgily.

Marko thought for a moment and then nodded his concession. "Very well, then. Come in."

Marko disappeared behind the door frame and the room opened up for Alphonse. The soldier stepped into the pristine and bare space of Marko's bedroom.

It was lit by only natural light from the window, casting everything in a pale gray hue. The room was littered with several books and papers with notes haphazardly scribble in that famous doctor's script that only other doctors could decipher.

"What is your business here, Mr. Weber?" Marko said casually, moving back to sit on his chair at the big, cluttered desk that he was sitting at before.

There was something about the way he said his name. No one ever called him Mister Weber in the way that Marko did. No one ever called him Mister. It was said with mock politeness, hiding a cold interior that wasn't interested in Alphonse or anyone for that matter, only science. Alphonse hated that voice, hated the reedy huskiness of Marko's voice. It made Alphonse think of someone who used to smoke in their younger days and quit. He wondered what would drive Marko to smoke and what were the factors that made him break the habit.

"I've come to ask you something," Alphonse said, finally looking at the man whose very image brought back painful memories.

"Ask me then," Marko said curtly, waving a hand for Alphonse to begin. "I don't have all day."

Alphonse took a breath. This was it. "I want to talk to you about the possibility of finding other Verschmelzungs that may be able to help King Yuuri."

Marko's stare was patronizing. "Really? And where did you get this idea?"

"It's logical isn't it?" Alphonse said smoothly, entering further into the room to stand directly before Marko. "Surely the king can't be the only one?"

"The only one alive," Marko said.

"You don't know that."

"How so?" Marko asked with a raised brow. "What makes you think I'm wrong?"

"Past experience."

For once, Marko was silent, the tiniest indication of discomfort on his face. Alphonse remained stony. He couldn't look at the aged doctor without seeing the last images of Nikki lying in bed, Nikki being strapped to the posts like a madman screaming for help, Nikki sobbing at night with unexplained scratches all over his body…

Nikki's broken body lying on the cold stone pavement of the garden.

All those memories, all the emotions, welled up inside Alphonse if he ever so much as thought Marko's name. Marko represented everything that went wrong with him and Niklas. Marko was the catalyst, it was his medical care that caused all the problems, it was Alphonse's fear, and it ruined his life.

"I understand," Marko whispered, looking at the papers scattered over his desk.

"Do you?" Alphonse said, lips curling in a small sneer.

"You're still grieving. You don't have all the answers, so you seek out someone to blame and let's be honest," Here Marko gave an acerbic smile. "The doctor is always the easiest to blame."

"You don't know anything," Alphonse's voice was quiet and cold.

"I've seen it enough times," Marko replied calmly, not at all perturbed. "In grief there is anger, there is sadness. Anger is but a mask used to hide our own guilt and fears when faced with tragedy or threats. It's a natural inclination and because our world is narrowed to that emotion, we lose sight of practicality and that's were we make mistakes."

"Your _practicality_ cost someone their life," Alphonse hissed.

Marko was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Are you here to confront me Alphonse? Are you here to bring me to justice or are you here to help the king?" Marko smiled down at the soldier. "Or are you here to bring me to justice by helping the king? Each one is very different."

Alphonse wanted to smack himself. Could he not make a valid argument against Marko? He berated himself for merely being able to throw out accusations instead of actually confronting Marko. His own emotions and memories rendered him blank and repetitive and he hated it.

Taking a deep breath, Alphonse remembered his original mission. He would not deal with this now. This was more important.

"I was told by his Majesty that you spoke of another Verschmelzung that survived the change and was living somewhere in the Western kingdom. Do you know anything of this?"

"You're very close with the king suddenly, aren't you?" Marko said, tilting his head in interest and just a little bemusement. "How did this come about?"

Alphonse pressed his lips into a thin line, his mind wandered back to the last time he saw his captain and the request made of him. He would obey that order and protect Yuuri as his captain would. "A promise made between comrades." And that was all he would say on the matter.

"I see…" Marko said. "Why should I tell you any of this? Were you sent by one of the generals? I doubt it. Why should I tell a simple soldier information concerning the king? What makes you special?"

"Because I would never wish what happened ten years ago on anyone, especially not the king," Alphonse said before he could stop himself. "I don't want them to make the same mistakes I did. Because of them, I lost the most important person in the world to me and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. I know I can help, because I _know_ this. I've seen the same patterns. I know their feelings, their confusion. I can see the places where they make their mistakes and it's hurting them. I can't allow that to happen." Alphonse took a step forward, straightening to his full height. "And if you need official verification, then I'm here on the orders of Lord Bielefeld."

"Why come alone? Why not tell the generals and have them order me to tell you?"

Alphonse had to think for a moment. Why didn't he alert the generals? Certainly, he could have gotten them to order Marko to tell them where the other Verschmelzung was or even get. He was so focused on confronting Marko about what Yuuri had told him that he completely forgot to tell anyone. That, and a part of him feared that the generals wouldn't believe a fairly low ranking officer over the doctor. As much as he knew now, he understood that the Generals saw Marko as their only chance, and maybe that was true for some part. His goal wasn't to oust Marko or cause unnecessary drama when his priority was making sure that Yuuri was protected and his promise to Bielefeld was upheld. Besides, as much as he detested Marko, it wasn't nearly as deep as the hatred he felt for himself.

"It is better this way," Alphonse said, trying not to let it show that he had just realized he had gone about this entirely wrong, but there was no backing out now.

"They won't believe you," Marko filled in for Alphonse when the soldier trailed off. " Or you think they won't believe you."

It wasn't that they wouldn't just disbelieve him - a part of Alphonse was also scared that the Verschmelzung that he toted as the answer to all their problems would truly be a madman or dead. As a military officer, Alphonse wanted to make sure all his bases were covered before he brought anything to the general's attention, lest he risk losing the small credibility he had and his captain's trust. He would seek out this Verschmelzung himself and hopefully bring him here to help.

"You should worry about that," Marko continued, getting up out of his chair slowly and walked over to the narrow window of his room to watch the rain. "It's a weak endeavor. This Verschmelzung might be dead. He might be a lunatic. If he did exist, would he even be willing to help? The change destroys people, Alphonse. It takes so much from them that what is left will bear little resemblance to the person they once were. It's often too much for their loved ones to handle. More often than not, it's more merciful to give them death."

"It won't come to that!" Alphonse protested. "It will never come to that! The generals won't let it! I won't let it! Damn it, Marko. Do we have anything else to lose by this? Just tell me or better yet, tell them! What harm could it do?"

"Oh it could do plenty of harm, Alphonse," Marko said. "More than you think."

"Well, we're certainly doing enough harm by letting our opinions taint our ability to be objective or inspect all aspects of the problem as good doctors and scholars should, aren't we?" Alphonse hissed.

"Cheeky little thing," Marko mumbled before returning his gaze to the window.

Neither of them spoke. One was more interested in the monotonously wet weather and the other doubted his ability to get the information he needed and cursing his ineptitude. Suddenly, so quiet that Alphonse had to strain to hear the monotone words that spilled from thin lips.

"His name was Gilbert Cocteau," Marko began in a throaty whisper, staring past the window and the rain and into the distant past. "He was the son of one of my colleagues. A bastard son, really. From a young age everyone could tell that the boy was strange. He would often stare at empty corners and blank walls for hours. Never moving or breathing it seemed. When his parents would ask him what he was looking at, he would always reply 'them.' When he grew into adolescence, Gilbert experienced the change. We all thought this was odd because up until that time, he had never made a contract with an element or shown any magical affinity whatsoever."

Alphonse's breath hitched in his throat. He dared not make a sound in the fear that the tiniest disturbance would bring Marko out of his reverie and he would go back to being vague and insufferable. He listened with rapt attention as Marko continued his story, a little bit louder and firmer as his frustration at the entire situation came to the front.

"His behavior became increasingly erratic and violent. He suffered from dementia and would often attack his caretakers. It got so bad that he was tied to his bed at all hours of the day. All the while, he would speak of voices that called to him in the night. One day, he got loose from his bonds and set fire to his village, killing dozens of people, including his indulgent parents. When they caught him, he claimed that the voices had told him to 'purify' the village. His parents had been permissive, instead of taking the medicine like I instructed them and keeping a close eye on him. They instead let him go through the change with no medication and minimal bonds." Marko sneered. "Because it didn't _sit well with him_. Their son's delicate constitution was too weak to handle the strong medication." Marko scoffed. "So stupid. And look what it cost them. Amazingly enough, Gilbert was able to escape the death penalty and was exiled. Maybe it was because of his parent's affluence and wealth or maybe the little shit was simply damn lucky. The last thing I heard of the boy was that he fled to the Christ territory. But that was eight years ago. I don't even know if he's still alive."

Marko spun on his heel to look at Alphonse sternly. "Listen to me, Alphonse. If he is alive, Gilbert is a dangerous and unstable man. Even today if you speak the name Gilbert Cocteau in those parts, people will shrink away in fear. I've seen it. There was even a rumor that Gilbert became the leader of some shady cult that lived in the woods and worshiped the Dark One. I don't know if this is true, but the sheer fear that the villagers of that region have of just the name of Cocteau is enough for me to strongly discourage you from seeking him out. Even if it's just based on the principle of there being nothing left of him but rumors and superstition. To do so would be pointless and a waste of time that could be spent actually helping his Majesty survive the change."

Alphonse didn't know what to say. His plans, which he thought had been so right and superior, were now rendered flawed. A tiny part of him still stubbornly defended his case. He didn't account for the other Verschmelzung being homicidal or a cult leader. Mentally off maybe, but not a killer.

Alphonse returned his attention to Marko, when the doctor began speaking again, this time in earnest.

"I never withheld information to be cruel or lazy. I withhold information like Gilbert from patients' families because they do the same thing that you are planning to do. They go seek him out and want him to be some kind of faith healer or all-knowing Wiseman. In reality, he is the opposite. But the families don't think about that. In their frustration at me for not being the miracle worker of their fantasies, they become unrealistic and selfish in their endeavors and forget the patient's true needs."

"People aren't that predictable, Marko," Alphonse said. "And can you blame them? Their love drives them to do these things. They can't let go or simply let things be because when their loved ones are in danger they wish to save them. Can you fault them for that?"

"No, I can't," Marko sighed, returning to stare out the window. "They can't help themselves. I never withheld information from King Yuuri. I only excluded certain information from his retainers so they wouldn't be blinded by their fear and grief. King Yuuri is well aware of what awaits him because in the end, he will make the final decision on what will be done with his person."

"It's still not our call to make," Alphonse said sternly.

Marko's eyes narrowed to slits, so piercingly cold that Alphonse could feel the chill in his bones. Marko left his spot at the window and sauntered over to stand just a couple feet in front of Alphonse, staring down at him from his impossible height, cold and unimpressed.

"If you knew what I knew," Marko whispered, hoarsely, looking at Alphonse but not seeing him, but something else entirely. "You would understand. You will find this man and whatever curd comes out of his mouth you will believe over your own logic, not just mine. You'll be so driven by desperation that you will follow his words and his rituals in the faint hope that maybe madness will succeed where science has not. You will believe him blindly. You will ignore the needs of your king while your selfish fear is assuaged by a lunatic's prayers. When the king either dies or becomes a lifeless shell of a man, you will think that you had done what you could, but in reality, you will be accomplices to murder."

That final word hung in the air like death. Alphonse wasn't sure if he should feel outrage or fear at Marko's words. Accomplices to murder? He was glad that they were inside the confines of Marko's room in a remote corner of the castle. Such words would have had Marko thrown into the dungeons and possibly executed. Marko was either reckless or indifferent, maybe both, and that disturbed Alphonse.

"What would you have us do, then?" Alphonse said desperately, voice barely above a whisper, still fearing that they might be heard or already heard by some chatty maid or curious guard.

"Wait…and have faith in his Majesty's ability to heal himself," Marko replied, voice unchanging in volume as if he had not just spoken treason to the soldier's face. "Let us hope that he is as omnipotent as the Priestesses decree."

"What happens when waiting does nothing and it's too late?" Alphonse said.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Marko said dismissively as he looked at the small clock on his desk. "I must go now. It is time for his Majesty's afternoon dose."

Taking it as the cue to leave, which it was, Alphonse numbly turned around and walked towards the door. He rested his hand on the cold handle for just a moment, wishing he had some final parting words that would give Marko a change of heart. He wondered what would someone have to go through to make them as apathetic and cold as Marko and he wished he would never go through something like that.

"Alphonse," came the soft call from the doctor. Alphonse stopped just as he cracked the door open. He didn't turn around to address the doctor he only listened.

"I will not mention our meeting to the generals," Marko said. "I know why you came and I will not fault you for it. His Majesty is…precious to many."

Alphonse would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised. He thought certainly that Marko would report him for his serious breach of rank. He turned this time to look at Marko, to search for any deception in the man's eyes but found none, only a calm, sad resolve that left him shaken.

Marko smile was unlike the others he had seen before. It was sorrowful; and full of regret and made the doctor seem even more ancient than before.

"I'm not nearly as cold-hearted as many would believe."

Not having an answer for that, Alphonse simply excused himself and left.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

The entire village, or as it seemed to Wolfram, was in an uproar thanks to his overreacting uncle.

He sat on the back steps of the inn where they were staying, the only place he had found that was far from the oppressive eyes of his uncle's men. He barely remembered what had happened, but from what his uncle had been able to tell him, he had almost been a victim of murder.

Wolfram could only remember vague images from the previous night. He remembered Yuuri entering his room, seducing him, and then attempting to kill him in the middle of their passionate exchange like it was some twisted fetish.

His hand drifted to his neck for the millionth time. He was thankful that the collar of his jacket and his rain cloak were sufficient enough to hide to darkening bruises. He didn't need the curious stares of onlookers as he went about his business.

Of course upon regaining consciousness and discovering the harsh marks upon his pale skin, his uncle insisted the inn be searched for any break-ins or suspicious persons. Wolfram found this action pointless as they were in a place where suspicious persons spent their time, so identifying a culprit among many would have been a waste of time and gotten them into trouble thus blowing their low profile. Wolfram wondered, and not for the first time, if his uncle had ever actually left the halls of Bielefeld castle and been among the locals he governed. He bet his uncle would have developed better street smarts than this.

But could he really fault his uncle? It's not like Wolfram could say he did it to himself in his sleep. He couldn't equate it to a particularly vivid matter how aware Waltorana was of his aggressive sleeping habits, there was no way Wolfram could have tried to kill himself in his sleep. Though that didn't stop him from stupidly trying that excuse which only earned him the most condescending stare he had ever seen on his uncle.

Wolfram wanted to believe it was a nightmare, he wanted to believe more than anything that it was just a bad dream and he didn't have hand-shaped bruises on his neck and that it was just a coincidence or a rash.

But he knew it was something else, it was the something that had been haunting him for the past few weeks, lurking in the shadows, taunting him with images of his suffering fiancé, laughing in his face, and telling him he was helpless to do anything.

Wolfram shuddered. Things were getting progressively worse. He had no idea what was going on. The dreams and visions from before had been either cries of help from Yuuri or threats from the thing that stalked him at night. They had been threats to his love, to his family, but he had never been directly attacked himself by it.

This had changed things. Something was after him now. He didn't now why, but only one word, one name rested on his mind when he thought of the nightmare that had been stalking him for weeks.

Rufus.

Wolfram knew only what his tutors and relatives had told him of his ancestor. That Rufus was from a powerful tribe of demons that mastered the art of fire, that Rufus had served as one of the Great King's comrades and advisors. Rufus had gone on to marry the king and thus founded the Bielefeld family.

But some thing that no tutor or distant cousin could agree upon was what exactly Rufus's sex was. Some say Rufus was clearly a male as he fought in the Great Wars and become head of his household. Others said Rufus was a female, as how could the Bielefeld line have been preserved if Rufus was the last of his clan and a male? Many family historians suggested a mistress, such a practice was common, and many still yet implied that Rufus hid his true gender in order to be allowed to fight. But most just scratched their heads and labeled it as one of the great mysteries of the demon tribe.

Wolfram didn't know much about Rufus personally, history had never been his strong suit, he could only appreciate the contributions his ancestor had made to his family and to the kingdom. But what everyone could agree on was that Rufus had been very precious to the Great One.

But now that the name of his ancestor had been uttered by an apparition wearing his fiancé's face, Wolfram's interest was piqued and his mind told him that there was an important clue hidden in that name and the story behind it.

"There you are!"

Wolfram sighed heavily as Waltorana walked brusquely up to stand in front of his nephew.

"Where have you been? I've been looking for you for the past hour!"

"I wanted to get some peace and quiet, Uncle," Wolfram said, sitting up straighter from his seat on the back steps to look up at the imposing figure.

"You shouldn't be alone," Waltorana scolded. "Not after last night."

"There was no attacker, Uncle," Wolfram said, though he already knew that his explanation held no merit in terms of logic, despite it being the truth.

"Of course there was!" Waltorana said. "Don't tell me that you simply had a very vivid nightmare, because that excuse didn't work the first time and it won't work now."

How could he explain it? There was an attacker, but then there wasn't. Not someone that could be found among the beggars and thieves of this rundown village. He had been attacked, but it was by something intangible something that wasn't looking for riches or ransom. It was no thief, no crazed murderer, but a deliberate actor that sought his demise out of vengeance. Did it find him through the avenue of his dreams by using his greatest desire or had it been there always?

Wolfram felt even more compelled to reach Yuuri, not only for the comfort of seeing him alive, but for the belief that Yuuri held all the answers.

"It wasn't anyone that resides here," Wolfram said, standing up slowly. He wanted to get a move on and get where he needed to be once and for all. They only had another day's ride.

"Who else could it be?" Waltorana demanded.

"There were no signs of forced entry, no one heard any struggling – "

"You were attacked in your sleep, Wolfram."

"I would think that after all you invested in my military career that you would think me capable of sensing when someone is in my room!" Wolfram snapped. "I can tell when someone has invaded my room, Uncle. And it wasn't a person."

"Then what was it?" Waltorana said, placing a hand in his hip and staring at Wolfram expectantly and with no lack of skepticism.

Wolfram hesitated. This was where he ran into trouble. He could only tell his Uncle what it wasn't, not what it was. If he did then his uncle's opinion of his mental capacities would certainly come into question.

"I don't know," Wolfram said quietly. "I only know that it wasn't anyone we're going to find in this ragged little village."

Waltorana sighed and looked away into the distance where some of their men were saddling the horses, getting ready to depart or go out to search some more depending on their lord's wishes. Wolfram continued to stare off to the space behind his uncle, mind scanning over the past events of not just yesternight, but of the visions and dreams he had been having every night since he left the capital.

"Uncle?"

Waltorana turned to his nephew. "Yes?"

Wolfram opened his mouth to speak, but he was still unsure of what he wanted to say, to him it also sounded ludicrous.

"Uncle…." He began hesitantly. "Do…..you believe in….ghosts?"

"Ghosts?" Waltorana repeated, blinking in confusion.

Wolfram nodded. "Yes."

Waltorana shrugged, looking at Wolfram with mild surprise. "In all my years, I haven't' seen a ghost. So until my own eyes can prove me wrong, then no, I do not."

Wolfram didn't believe in ghosts either, at least, he thought he didn't.

"Why?" Waltorana continued. "Now you want to tell me a ghost attacked you?"

"I don't know," Wolfram said in all honesty. "But I know it wasn't a person. There would have been evidence of it. But there is none."

"Wolfram," Waltorana said, walking over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have been through much. The stress of the engagement, his Majesty's illness, this hellish traveling, it's all starting to get to you. There are no such things as ghosts. We do not come back from the dead. It is impossible."

"Soushou was dead," Wolfram whispered. "He came back."

"Wolfram," Waltorana shook his shoulder for emphasis. "Soushou was… something else…something we could never truly understand in this finite world. It would take more than just a simple soul to transcend death. Even we do not fully understand the ramifications of our contracts with the elements. It is something we simply learned to accept. But we can never fully understand it. But death, is the ultimate inevitability of life, it cannot be escaped. Not even the Originator could escape it."

"Uncle," Wolfram said, looking away into the distance, towards his true home. "I fear that…something terrible is about to happen that will harm us all, not just Yuuri. It is a shadow that has been haunting me since I arrived at Bielefeld and it has been growing. I don't know what it is. I can't name it, I can't understand it, and that scares me. Because very soon, it will come and we won't be prepared."

It all came out in a rush. Once he began speaking he couldn't stop. But he had to tell someone, had to say what had been on his mind for what felt like ages. He didn't know if his uncle would believe him, hell, he didn't think he would believe himself. But it had become too much to ignore. It was not only for Yuuri that he feared, he feared for his family and the country.

Waltorana said nothing at first. Dark green eyes met brighter ones, a contrast between experience and jadedness to bright eyed youth and fervor. Waltorana searched Wolfram for a sign, of what, he didn't know. Maybe an indication of his mental stability, maybe some sign that he too had contracted the illness that had befallen their king. But he found none.

Sighing again, Waltorana removed his hand from Wolfram's thin shoulder, a grim resolution on his eyes as he turned away towards their men.

"That is why we must make it to the capital," He said and began walking back to the inn and their convoy to make preparations to leave. They wouldn't find any perpetrator here.

He stopped in his tracks when Wolfram spoke.

"Why did you insist on coming with me?"

Waltorana looked back at him as if surprised at such as seemingly obvious question.

"I may not believe in ghosts or suffered from night terrors, Wolfram. But recent events have stirred my concern and as the head of the most powerful clan of the Aristocrats, I feel it is my duty to investigate for the good of the country."

Wolfram's eyes narrowed. "No, really, why did you come?"

"You'll understand," was the simple, cryptic answer. Not saying another word, Waltorana stalked off towards their convoy.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

It was a sad sight that met Yuuri when he was let out of his room-turned-cell of the first time in what felt like an eternity.

He stood at the top of the stone steps that led from the open hallway that lined the gardens of Blood Pledge. Wrapped in a heavy coat to protect him against the rain and wearing a pair of sturdy leather boots, he slowly made his way into the waterlogged flower beds and tiny saplings that were weighed down by the relentless rain that had plagued them.

The stone path was a tiny stream, the grass was nothing but a collection of green puddles, the fountain was overflowing from the access water and spilling over into the vulnerable flowerbeds tat surrounded it.

It had stopped raining. It seemed to have been slowing down lately. It rained only at night now. During the day the sky was overcast and a light mist covered the once radiant gardens and palace grounds. It made Yuuri sad and lonely to see his beautiful home ravaged by the element he supposedly could control. Not anymore, nowadays, Yuuri couldn't control his own mind, let alone an element as powerful and temperamental as the water.

He had been allowed for a brief moment, to go outside. He didn't care that the weather was bad, it had been bad for several weeks now. He was tired of being confined to his room. He got sick of seeing the same paintings, furniture, knick-knacks and medicine bottles every single day, the monotony doing more damage to his waning sanity than any bumps in the night that had plagued him. After a heated discussion and an exercise of his power, Yuuri was able to convince his retainers that he was well enough to venture outside at least for a little while.

Yuuri ventured further into the drippy gardens, walking down a tree lined path into the center of the garden where Lady Cheri kept her prized one-of-a-kind flowers. It was no accident that it was also where they kept the most beautiful of the flowers.

Yuuri breathed in the cool, wet air, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. There were no visits from Alphonse today. Yuuri didn't know where the musical soldier had gone to, thus he was left without the comfort of his music so he was glad for another outlet through which to calm his frayed nerves.

The wet, squishy steps behind him were a reminder that he was not completely alone. Conrad had followed him at a respectful distance, quiet and brooding, not even bothering to give his signature smile that always gave Yuuri peace. There was none today and maybe it was for the better. Yuuri didn't need false peacefulness. He didn't want to be told that everything was going to be all right when the forces that be said it wouldn't. He didn't want comfort. He wanted answers.

Yuuri mistook a step and staggered forward on the cobblestone path. Immediately, the arms of his godfather caught him by his shoulders to steady him. Yuuri gently shrugged off the helping hands and stood up straight. He had grown weary of being manhandled even if it was a gentle touch from his godfather. He could vaguely recall being dragged, tied down, and shoved into his room in the early stages of his illness when he was treated only slightly better than a wild animal. He felt no resentment for his retainers and the soldiers that watched him, but he still remembered bitterly being thrown about.

"It's okay, Conrad," He whispered, his voice was constantly hoarse now and his throat had a constant ache. "I'm fine."

Yuuri didn't see it, but he could feel Conrad's curt nod as he slowly let go of him.

"Are you sure, Yuuri?" Conrad asked.

"Yes," Yuuri replied. "I'm just tired."

"I know, your Majesty," Conrad said gently.

They didn't talk much like they used to, Conrad seemed to have retreated within himself as Yuuri's condition worsened. It made the young king feel lonely and distant from his godfather. He felt distant from everyone actually. Gunter was busy searching the archives for a cure, and Gwendal had taken over all of Yuuri's duties, having very little time to spare. Yuuri didn't eat dinner with them anymore and was under the impression that his retainers took their meals elsewhere, be it offices or private rooms. He felt like his family was drifting apart and it made him guilty because he knew it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri said sadly.

Conrad regarded him with gentle, sad eyes. "Why do you say that, Yuuri?"

Yuuri looked down at his wet feet. His boots squeaked when he rubbed them together nervously under the steady gaze of his godfather.

"I'm causing you all so much pain. I never meant for this to happen. I-I tried to stop it, Conrad. I really did. I wanted to fix something on my own for once and now I just made it worse. I'm so much trouble. I should be able to handle this by myself, but I can't!"

Conrad turned Yuuri around to face him directly. A warm hand slowly lifted Yuuri's chin so their gazes met. Yuuri wanted to look away, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from his godfather's face. It wasn't because of the intense stare, that was part of it, yes, but what kept Yuuri's attention were the fine lines and creases that framed Conrad's mouth and eyes that weren't there before. The proud, energetic soldier looked so exhausted. His eyes were no longer bright and alert but dull and lifeless. Yuuri knew he wasn't the only one suffering from this hell he had inadvertently created. It had engulfed everyone around him that he cared about and made to drag them down with him into the abyss and there was nothing the so-called powerful demon king could do to stop it. Never before had he felt so useless and weak.

But Conrad said otherwise.

"Yuuri, don't say things like that. You are not a burden. You are not causing us pain. This is a difficult time, yes, but we will get through it together. You are our king and much more. We'll be by your side until the end."

Yuuri looked forlornly at Conrad. His words were a comfort, but they still did little to ease the pain in his heart. A part of him wanted to believe Conrad, but it was near impossible. Yuuri may have spent all of his time in his bedroom, but he was still aware that the country was close to falling apart because of the apocalyptic weather and their lack of a king. Gwendal was doing all he could, but Yuuri's condition was causing a distraction for them all.

"No one expects you to go through this on your own," Conrad continued, squeezing Yuuri's shoulder for emphasis. "No one wants you to. We want you to get better and we'll do whatever it takes to make sure of that. We love you, Yuuri."

Yuuri couldn't stop the tears from welling up. He wanted so badly for this to just be over. He was tired, his friends were tired. He had so much he needed to do and this was keeping him from completing his duties as king, something eh vowed that he would take more responsibility of when he became older. Now it felt like he was shirking his duties even more. He felt like a failure.

He wanted to be alone now.

"Thanks, Conrad," Yuuri said quietly, appreciating, if not fully accepting, his godfather's words.

Conrad only smiled and squeezed Yuuri's shoulders again. The two stayed like that for a bit just staring at the other, trying to find some hidden answer that would solve all their problems but finding none. Yuuri finally pulled out of Conrad's grasp and turned to continue down the path. When Conrad tried to follow him, Yuuri held up a hand.

"If it's not too much, can I walk by myself for a bit?"

Conrad hesitated, they had been instructed to never leave Yuuri alone without supervision. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Yuuri."

"I won't go far," Yuuri insisted. "And if you stay where I can't see you then that would be fine as well. Please, Conrad. I just want some space to think."

Conrad looked as if he would protest again, but the firm resolve in Yuuri's stare made him nod stiffly and he disappeared into the gardens, out of sight, but never too far away. Yuuri felt a tinge of guilt that he would opt for solitude when he hadn't seen his godfather in so long, but he spent the majority of his time confined or surrounded by people fussing over him that any opportunity for peace was quickly seized.

Yuuri continued to explore the flooded gardens. Despite the damage done by the rain, the flowers still held on stubbornly to their former glory. The colors were not as bright, but Yuuri could see the array of blues, purples, and reds that dotted the landscape. Yuuri mentally pointed out all the flowers he knew from heart. "Conrad Stands Upon The Earth," "Cheri's Sigh", "Yuuri's Naiveté"...and finally, "Beautiful Wolfram".

The bed of the yellow flowers dedicated to his fiancé were in the worst shape. They were not tall flowers and their stems were delicate. They were completely flooded in their bed by the torrential rains, the mud oozing over the wooden frames of each box and spilling over onto the pathway.

Yuuri reached out to touch a particularly small blossom. This one hadn't even completed blooming yet before it was weighed down by the rain and a few petals were missing. None of the gardeners had been out lately to care for the flowerbeds. Cheri was on another one of her cruises for whatever reason. The woman was always gone on some trip for some frivolous reason, spending her money and flirting with men, and throwing lavish parties aboard her luxury yacht. Yuuri hadn't seen her since his third year anniversary banquet. After seeing that he was stable after his first collapse she had left the next day for another trip. Yuuri, along with her sons, had learned to accept that Lady Cheri would and could never stay in one place for long. The castle had come to be a prison for the free-spirited women and she couldn't bear to be within its walls even for her sons.

Yuuri could sympathize with her, he certainly felt like his crown was more a symbol of his oppression rather than his power. There were days when he did just want to throw everything down and run for the nearest body of water and go back to Japan where he could live out his life peacefully.

But what kept Yuuri in his place, what kept him from giving up, were his friends and his budding family. He would never leave this country, which he had done so much for and it for him, and let it fall to whatever ruin it may. He couldn't leave Greta who had known more abandonment than any child her age should have. He had a purpose here, he had a goal and he would never be able to live with himself if he let everyone down.

Yuuri guessed that the main difference between him and Lady Cheri was that he never had to rule on his own. He had a fiancé who supported him and loved him for who he was and not his power or wealth. Cheri never experienced that. Her marriages had ended in disaster and unexpected births. Yuuri had only experienced the best of his engagement as unwanted as it had been until now...until now…

Yuuri cupped the blossom, stroking a petal with his thumb as his thoughts drifted along a nonlinear path of logic that eventually led him back to his fiancé, as it usually did. The blonde prince occupied most of Yuuri's thoughts almost to eh point of obsession. Their wedding announcement had only increased the number of times each day Yuuri thought about his fiery friend and the absence of said friend was no help either.

He missed Wolfram, missed him more than he thought he ever could. He missed him most at night, when the shadows tortured him endlessly. He would give anything for the blonde to return and sleep next to him, protecting him despite his aggressive sleeping habits. He would gladly take a kick to the ribs than be stalked by a ghoul any day. He wanted Wolfram.

He wanted to hear his voice, see his face, smell his scent, be near him, touch him, hold him, anything – anything to stop this, anything to give him some sort of hope, a foundation, a direction, someone who could understand him. He needed that, he needed him, like he needed food or air. He just needed something to hold on to. He needed Wolfram's love.

He never said it outright, but he knew that Wolfram loved him, he knew that Wolfram would do anything for him. Wolfram spent his life helping Yuuri become a better king, helping him rule to kingdom that way he should. Wolfram had even changed his attitude, becoming a proud, noble knight instead of staying a selfish brat to make himself better for Yuuri. Wolfram had done so much for his sake, had gone through so much for his sake that he would be a true idiot not to realize that Wolfram's actions went beyond the loyalty of a knight to his king or that of a close friend.

Such actions could only be borne of someone deeply in love with him. It flattered Yuuri and it scared him. Scared him because he couldn't figure out why he was unable to bring himself to feel the same. Wolfram could have had anyone else, be engaged to anyone else, but he chose Yuuri - why?

And why couldn't he love Wolfram the way he loved him?

For the longest, Yuuri was content to tell himself that he felt nothing more for Wolfram than that of a close friend. Later in life, he started to refer to his feeling as that of a brother when the need he felt whenever Wolfram was near indicated more than just friends. It was deeper than friends and Yuuri quickly realized it wasn't sibling love either. It was just as deep, but it wasn't familial devotion or need. It was something much more physical – sexual.

But it wasn't love! Or it was, but Yuuri found it impossible to make that final declaration. He knew it was a feeling different from family and friends.

Yuuri grimaced in frustration. What was he waiting for? What was he scared of? Everyone made it seem so easy to admit romantic feelings to each other, so why couldn't he? He could say that he had been raised in an environment where such unions were forbidden, but that was irrelevant in his current position. He was king of a country that not only accepted such partnerships, but even encouraged them, so he had gotten rid of that sentiment long ago out of necessity. That, and his parents had always been open and accepting of his engagement to Wolfram, particularly his mother.

Yuuri had spent most of his life being asexual. Sure he had checked out girls with his friends, but he never did it on his own. He was more interested in baseball and other things. When he became king, Yuuri simply had no time to indulge or explore his sexuality. It wasn't a natural part of his life, but an inconvenient distraction from what he was meant to do.

Then Wolfram ran into Yuuri's life, just a hotheaded blonde that Yuuri was more than happy to detest those first years. But that detestation grew into friendship and then a close bond that went beyond mere friends. He and Wolfram understood each other in ways no one else had, not even their own families. It was something special that Yuuri was unable to decipher.

He supposed that was how they reached their emotional impasse in the past couple of years. They were teetering on the edge of something deeper than what they were accustomed to, but they, in particular Yuuri, were unable or unwilling to make that final leap. Or maybe…Wolfram had, and he was just waiting for Yuuri to make the final decision and Yuuri was hesitating.

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. There was the problem! Why was he hesitating? What more could he ask for in a partner? He had gotten over the same-sex thing years ago, hell, he barely thought about it when they touched. Wolfram was the perfect partner - attentive, smart, passionate, attractive, well-bred and (if he wanted to get into the economics of their relationship) wealthy and politically affluent.

What was wrong with him?

He craned his head back to feel the light mist against his face. The cool moisture helped him clear his thoughts as he burrowed deeper into his own mind. He created a mental checklist of all the feelings he held for Wolfram and the soldier for him. He would acknowledge that he felt something deeper than friendship for Wolfram, something deeper than any love he had experienced in his life. It wasn't a crush or passing fixation. He could never imagine life without Wolfram. Wolfram had proven himself over and over again, declared his love, offered his protection, stood by Yuuri no matter what, would never betray him. Yuuri could trust –

It came so suddenly that Yuuri's entire body seized up as the waves of emotion swept over his being. He clutched painfully at his hair as images flooded his brain. Wave after wave of forgotten memories painted across the back of his eyelids. He couldn't make sense of any of them, just barely able to make out the shapes, faces and sounds that assaulted his mind.

He was no longer in the garden, but in dank, smelly dungeon. He was gagged, but he could see the tall figure above him, looking down through a square hole in the ceiling. He could hear them speaking in an ancient language he had never heard. The pain in his head increased and he heard himself begin to scream when the heavy door to the oubliette slowly slid shut.

Yuuri blinked and he was standing on a platform, the sounds of an angry mob ringing through his ears. A man stood to the side just inside the corner of Yuuri's vision, reciting something from a large piece of yellowed paper. His eyes that were not his scanned the crowd before landing on another platform where two people sat. A man dressed in ornate robes was seated, watching the proceedings with grim resolution, blue eyes hard, blonde hair blowing in the wind, hand clasping firmly to that of the person who sat next to him.

Yuuri turned his gaze on the other person, a beautiful woman dressed just as richly as her companion. But unlike the cold mask of her husband, the woman was visibly crying, face red, green eyes large and glassy, her hand clinging to the man's like a lifeline. Though her husband was right next to her, the woman never took her sorrowful, guilty eyes off of him and Yuuri was filled with a sense of intense betrayal and hatred for the woman.

Yuuri struggled to get free of the heavy chains that cut into his wrists and ankles. The man with the paper continued reading, completely ignoring Yuuri's movements. The crowd's yells grew when the man read a particular passage that named the greatest of Yuuri's crimes. Yuuri didn't hear the crowd, didn't hear the man declare his sentence. He could only look into the apologetic eyes of the woman who betrayed him.

Over the screams of the crowd, Yuuri let out one of his own. Yelling and cursing in the strange language, voice filled with contempt, anger, and loathing for the people who stood before him and persecuted him. He spat in the direction of the king earning outraged gasps from the crowd and demands for his head.

The sounds of the crowd and the persecutor melded together into an incomprehensible noise, his vision blurred and instead of chains he felt soft sheets and downy pillows. He was on his back, staring up at the beautifully embroidered canopy above the bed. His arm was wrapped around a slim, soft figure, long hair flowing down his arm and tickling his shoulder. He lovingly squeezed the form closer, eliciting a sweet purr from the lovely creature in his arms.

A golden head entered his line of vision. It was the same woman who sat next to the king at his trial. Her eyes who hooded and lustful, an adorable pout on her lips instead of a frown. Yuuri resisted the urge to take one of those lump little petals between his teeth.

The woman trailed a long finger down his naked chest wandering dangerously close to his aching groin. She smiled mischievously down at him and pulled her hand away, much to his frustration.

"Miene Liebste," He murmured in protest when she refused to continue her touches.

"Bitte," she whispered, voice pleading and enticing. So seductive. "Wenn du mich liebst, bitte erzähle mir von deiner Schwäche. Du kannst mir vertrauen. Ich schwöre, es niemals einer Seele zu sagen."

"Ich kann es nicht," Yuuri said and judging by the tired tone of his voice, this was a conversation they had before.

Her large green eyes became even wider and sad. "Vertraust du mir nicht?"

"Das ist es nicht," He said gently, petting her long hair in comfort. "Es ist zu gefährlich."

Her playful smile became a hard frown and she turned her back on him. "Wie kannst du behaupten, mich zu lieben, wenn du mir nicht vertraust? Ich dachte, ich ware deine Frau!"

"Liebste…"

"Nein!" She snapped, eyes brimming with tears. "Ohne Vertrauen ist diese Verbindung sinnlos! Ich kann nicht mit einem Mann zusammen sein, der es verweigert, seine Geheimnisse mit mir zu teilen, der glaubt ich sei eine Verräterin!"

Yuuri sat up to hug the women and pull her closer. He couldn't lose her over something like this! "Nein, Liebste! Ich vertraue dir mit meinem Leben! Ich liebe dich!"

She turned around in his arms and looked up at him skeptically. "Dann beweise es mir. Sag es."

"Wie du wünschst. Wenn es meine Liebe beweist."

The scene changed again, but there was no new memory, only complete darkness and a rank smell of a cell. Yuuri saw nothing, but he felt a growing, all-encompassing anger and hated for the one he thought he could trust with his life. The pain in his head grew to unbearable proportions.

They found his weakness. They knew how to kill him… because of her.

When he opened his eyes through the pain, Yuri was on his knees in the garden, mud soaking through his pants. He was back in his own reality, but the emotions still remained in him. The overwhelming rage consumed him as he turned his attention to the trembling Beautiful Wolframs before him.

They were so pretty, but they only repulsed him. The reminded him of that woman, of her blond hair and green eyes. Of her new form that dared to deceive him yet again.

"Dreckige, wiederliche, verräterische!" He growled, hands flying from his hair to rip the flowers from their bed. "Ich habe dir alles gegeben, was ich hatte und hast es mir zurück vor die Füße geworfen! Verlogene!"

Yuuri flew into a frenzy as he destroyed the flowers beds, ripping up anything he could get his hands on to take out his burning rage.

"Ich werde dir niemals vergeben! Es ist mir egal wie du aussiehst! Es ist mir egal wie viele Jahre vergangen sind! Welches Geschlecht du gewählt hast! Ich werde immer wissen, dass du es bist und ich werde dich auf ewig hassen! Ich werde mich immer daran erinnern, was du mir angetan hast, Rufus von Bielefeld!"

A loud clap of thunder echoed viciously over Yuuri as he continued to ravage the innocent garden.

"Ich werde dich vernichten! Ich werde alles zerstören, was du und dein Köter unter Ausbeutung meines Wesens erreicht habt!"

Yuuri's words dissolved into incoherent screams. He couldn't think or reason, he just wanted to hurt, to kill, to maim anything that came across his path. He didn't hear Conrad's surprised shouts or the pair of arms the yanked him away from his massacre of Cheri's prized flowers. He struggled against Conrad's grip, not hearing the shouts for him to calm down.

A hard slap to the side of his head was what finally jolted Yuuri out of his trance. He panted and stared tat the carnage in front of him. The flowerbeds were completely destroyed - stems, petals and buds lay strewn about him. The beds themselves were completely divested of any plant life. Yuuri's arms were covered in mud up to his elbows, his hair was soaked form the sudden down pour of rain, and his pants were covered in dirt and mud. The pain in his head had lessened to a dull throb.

"Yuuri!" Conrad exclaimed, still holding tightly to Yuuri arms. "What's going on? What have you done to Mother's flowers?"

"I-I don't know," Yuuri gasped. His legs gave out beneath him and Conrad had to lower him to the ground slowly.

"I-I-I…" Yuuri tried to speak, but he was cut off by a terrible pain episode. The familiar, dreaded agony tore into his gut suddenly, Yuuri cried out pitifully.

He heard Conrad call for help, but Yuuri stopped him, he knew it was pointless.

"Don't," He whispered through the pain. "There's nothing we can do…"

"Yuuri," Conrad said sadly, knowing that it was the truth, but he still couldn't let this go on.

"It's…alright," Yuuri wheezed. "Just…just stay with me. Don't leave me, please."

"I won't, I swear it," Conrad said trough gritted teeth, holding Yuuri like a small child in his arms, trying to give his king and godson some comfort.

Yuuri sobbed. "I-I'm broken."

"No, you're not, Yuuri," Conrad said. "You're going to get better, I know it."

"I'm broken, Conrad!" Yuuri insisted. "I can't...I can't do this anymore! I want it to be over. I just want it to be over!"

"I know, Yuuri, I know," Conrad said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears as well.

Conrad rocked Yuuri gently as the young king continued to sob in his arms. Both were lost in their own turmoil. One was praying for an answer, some semblance of hope, while the other simply prayed for it to end by any means possible.

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Chapter 12! Brought to you by the new Within Temptation album The Unforgiving. If you haven't gotten it yet, you should! It helped me write this thing! Nothing like new music to get the creative muscles flexing!

I would like to thank my Beta SweetxSnowxDream for being great and providing her feedback. I would also like to thank the lovely Miss AsuraChan for the English to German translation. If it was confusing then that's what is was meant to do.

There will be more German phrases in later chapters and English translations will be at the end of the chapter. I will try to find a more smooth way of switching languages without causing too much strain on the reader when it becomes more prominent.

Please let me know what you all think and any theories you have as to where this story may go. Your input is very important to me.

TRANSLATION

1) "Please," she whispered, voice pleading and enticing. So seductive. "If you love me, please tell me your weakness. You can trust me. I swear to never tell a soul."

"I can't," Yuuri said and judging by the tired tone of his voice, this was a conversation they had before.

Her large green eyes became even wider and sad. "Don't you trust me?"

"It's not that," He said gently, petting her long hair in comfort. "It's just too risky."

Her playful smile became a hard frown and she turned her back on him. "How can you say you love me, when you won't trust me? I thought I was your wife!"

"Liebste…"

"No!" She snapped, eyes brimming with tears. "This union is pointless if there is no trust! I can't be with a man who refuses to share his every secret with me, thinking I am a traitor!"

Yuuri sat up to hug the woman and pull her closer. He couldn't lose her over something like this! "No, Liebste! I trust you with my life! I love you!"

She turned around in his arms and looked up at him skeptically. "Then prove it. Tell me."

"Very well. If it will prove my love."

2) "Filthy, disgusting, traitorous whore!" He growled, hands flying h=from his hair to rip the flowers from their bed. "I gave you everything I had and you threw it back in my face! Lying slut!"

Yuuri flew into a frenzy as he destroyed the flowers beds, ripping up anything he could get his hands on to take out his burning rage.

"I will never forgive you! I don't care what you look like! I don't care how many years have past! What sex you choose! I will always know it's you and I will always hate you! I will always remember what you did to me, Rufus von Bielefeld!"

Yuuri continued to scream as he destroyed the innocent garden.

"I will destroy you! I will destroy everything you and that cur built on my body!"

Danke! - EB


	13. Chapter 13 The Twenty Third Day

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter Thirteen

Thank you for all your reviews! They all mean a lot to me and I appreciate you taking the time to leave your comments. They are very inspiring and helpful.

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya – Chapter Thirteen: Reunion

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Gwendal was torn between feebly attempting to rectify the disastrous situation and running for his life back to his family's lands.

The disastrous situation was not entirely due to the horrendous weather and the damage it caused, but the massive amounts of paperwork and correspondence that occurred because of it. Gwendal sat behind his desk, hands clasped in a permanent prayer to higher powers, head bowed with the weight of the world and hair out of its normal ponytail and hanging in limp locks around his shoulder having fallen out of its ties from relentless pulling.

Gwendal hadn't even the time to sort trough the various letters, appeals, inquiries and whatnot that covered his large desk. There were stacks upon stacks, some from weeks ago that yet needed his attention – or really the king's attention, but that was a lost cause.

His hands unclasped to rub at tired eyes. Gwendal peered through his fingers at the two men standing before him. Conrad and Gunter watched his movement with careful concern and empathy, they too felt the same exhaustion and frustration that he did. They had come to his office for one of their sporadic meetings. They barely had time anymore to meet and discuss matters of state, which left everything to Gwendal. This was their first time he had seen the two men at the same time in the same room. He usually saw Günter frittering about the halls clutching a book and when he saw Conrad it was usually when the man was escorting Yuuri from one point to the next or sitting in a corner despairing. Gwendal himself never ventured out of his office except to eat or relieve himself and those brief moments when he was walking the halls served as a time for him to clear his mind best as he could before he had to hunker down back into the fray of written pleas and state chaos.

"A month," Gwendal said, absolute and dismal. "A month of non-stop rain, floods, and countless damages done to our agriculture and our villages. The crops have been submerged, the roads are buried by mudslides, trade is at a stand still, supplies can't get through to victims. If this continues, I have no idea how we will survive the winter season when food becomes scarce."

Conrad stared at his brother's hand sweeping over the mountain of papers in a showy gesture.

"Should we seek help from allies?" Conrad suggested, albeit weakly for the same reason that Gwendal refuted it.

"No," he said. "Shin Makoku's economy is the backbone of the continental economy. If the kingdom suffers, our allies suffer worse. This pile right here is from allies seeking help from the storm."

"What are our options?" Conrad asked.

"The rain has diminished enough in the past few days that I've instructed farmers to try and salvage what they can of their crops and start the preserving process."

"So early," Gunter murmured, hugging yet another book to his chest.

"We have no choice at this point," Gwendal said. "Better to start the salvage and preservation process now than wait until everything is underwater to procure the necessary food supplies. I won't even call it a harvest for it would be too generous a term for what the farming communities must do to save what they can. Lest they, and ultimately the urban citizens, starve this winter."

"Each day grows harder," Gunter murmured sadly. "The country's stability teeters on the edge of a knife. We are running out of time and resources. Everything was so hopeful just a few weeks ago. We had few problems, everything was stable and now this happens. What happened?"

"Our king happened," Gwendal said, with more bitterness than he meant.

Out of everyone in the king's court, Gwendal had the most tumultuous experience with the young monarch. When Yuuri was first crowned king at such a young age, Gwendal overtook most of the state affairs while Yuuri grew into his role. When Yuuri grew older, Gwendal had gradually begun siphoning off more basic duties and responsibilities, allowing Yuuri to handle them as he would without much risk. When Yuuri was eighteen, Gwendal had planned to hand over all duties and take on an assistant role as he was supposed to. But now it was back at square one, only this time instead of adolescent carelessness, a very real and devastating illness – that's what he called it - kept Yuuri from assuming his kingly duties fully, thus Gwendal had to take over the handling of the kingdom.

He didn't want to feel the way he did, he knew Yuuri had no control over this anymore than he did. But a small part of him couldn't help feeling resentful towards the change, towards Marko, and towards Yuuri. He often found himself thinking, particularly when he witnessed Yuuri's condition, if Yuuri was really fighting as hard as he could, if he was really trying to overcome this or was he reverting to his younger years and making excuses.

Gwendal mentally shook his head. Such thoughts were better left alone. The workload and stress among other things were getting to him. Too little rest and too little reward for his labor were making Gwendal resentful and he needed to stay strong no matter what.

"Yuuri is as helpless as we are, if not more," Conrad said stating what Gwendal already new to be true but his thoughts still whispered cynical things to his weary psyche. "You know that."

"I do," Gwendal sighed, leaning back into his seat. "I do."

"But we can't continue as we are," Gwendal said after a minute of silence. "WE naively thought if we waited it out and let the change take its course as we were instructed to, we could get out of this and save some face. But the rumors travel despite the weather and words of the king's illness is spreading. We have some advantage as they are simply rumors at this point. But the shred of truth that created them and the loose lips that borne them still pose a risk."

"The prejudices of the nobility have not waned, despite a half-blood king taking the throne," Gunter said, clinging his book ever tighter, too familiar with the pettiness of royalty and picking up on the implication of Gwendal's words. "Rumors are enough reason for them to question and criticize us. They will except anything if it means slandering the king's name, in spite of the good he's done."

"There are still those who wish to see the king fail," Gwendal added. "Every time Yuuri succeeds, they hate him more. They will want for anything that could potentially impede him. Whether it's a real issue or not, they don't care."

"However," Gwendal continued with a sigh. "As long as the nobility doesn't do anything, we should focus on other things at hand."

Gwendal turned to Conrad. "How is Yuuri's condition?"

"He seemed in brighter spirits this morning," Conrad answered, when Yuuri had collapsed in pain the other day, he had called the available healer to take him inside. Yuuri was inconsolable, sobbing and speaking incoherently as Marko came in with a strong sedative. To Conrad's surprise, Marko was closely followed by his younger brother's lieutenant Alphonse von Weber who, without looking at the other occupants of the room, came to Yuuri's side and grasped his hand as he whispered comforting words. Even stranger, Yuuri immediately calmed and clung to Alphonse's hand like it was his last hope. "He was eating, finally, and talking. He had life in him. Marko informed me that Yuuri was getting better now that he had a companion."

"A companion?" Gwendal questioned.

Conrad cleared his throat arbitrarily. "Wolfram's lieutenant, Alphonse von Weber, has been seeing Yuuri everyday and playing music for him. It keeps Yuuri calm and prevents any episodes. It seems to be working as Yuuri has not had a fit in some time."

Gwendal frowned. "Does Wolfram know of this?"

Conrad pursed his lips in thought before slowly replying. "I'm…not sure. I don't think Alphonse would take such a liberty unless Wolfram gave him permission or Yuuri personally ordered him to. But I don't recall Yuuri ever being acquainted with Weber."

Gwendal's frown deepened. He didn't think it appropriate for his brother's lieutenant to visit Yuuri so regularly. He found it even more inappropriate that he didn't know until now. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

Conrad looked at him helplessly. "I just found out myself."

Gunter grimaced. "I'm glad Wolfram isn't here. He would throw a nasty fit if he knew."

Both brothers nodded in total agreement.

However, Gwendal was glad that they seemed to have finally found something that would keep Yuuri calm as his body went through the transformation. He would let it slide…for now.

Gunter sighed loudly. "I wish we could do more!" He looked at the seemingly random book in his arms. "I've looked everywhere for that missing history book but I've found nothing! If only I could go to the Temple of the Great One! I'm sure it must be in the archives there!"

"With the roads washed out, we're not going anywhere," Gwendal mumbled bitterly. Everything was going to hell and they were lost as to what to do. Everything was hinging on Yuuri's recovery.

The sound of horses startled the men. Who was out riding in this weather?

"What is that?" Conrad asked in disbelief.

Gwendal turned around and pushed aside the curtain of his office to look down into the court yard. His mouth dropped open in surprise when he saw a soaked and miserable convoy of blue-clad soldiers trudge through the front gates, followed by an elaborate carriage bearing the Bielefeld crest. Gwendal's disbelief grew when he saw a familiar blonde figure rush past the group and leap from his horse before the creature had even come to a complete stop.

"Well? What's going on?" Gunter said impatiently as he and Conrad moved to stand beside Gwendal and look out for themselves.

"Wolfram's back," Gwendal said, surprise, relief and slight happiness in his voice. Gwendal's disbelief turned to dread when he saw the carriage door open.

Their faces lit up with joyous disbelief. "Really? That's wonderful!" Conrad said smiling wider than he had in ages.

"Waltorana's with him."

"Goddamn it…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse tried his best to relay the information Marko had given him without causing his king any further dismay. But, he believed in honesty and knowing all the facts, so he somewhat reluctantly told King Yuuri of the risks involved if a pursuit of this mysterious Verschmelzung was to take place.

He watched the hope dwindle from his king's stare and be replaced by despondency in large eyes. The tentative smile on his king's face died faster than it lived just a few moments ago when the king greeted his arrival. Alphonse had thought that he might have played a few songs first and uplifted his king's spirits before he gave him the news, but he felt that time was running short and King Yuuri – Yuuri, he was allowed to call him _Yuuri_ now – needed to know before any action could be taken.

"So even if this person does exist, he might be crazier than I am," Yuuri said sadly.

Alphonse immediately took a cold hand in both of his. "He most certainly does exist, Yuuri. I know he does! And even if he is a little off in the head, we could still get something from him, I'm sure."

Yuuri was skeptical. "You just told me he could be either dead or insane. How would either be helpful? It sounds like a fool's errand."

"There's no such thing as a fool's errand when it's our only option." Alphonse replied, squeezing the hand for emphasis.

Yuuri lifted his gaze to Alphonse. "We have other options. Marko says I'm getting better. I might be able to sit this one out until it's run its course." Even though his voice was steady and calm, Alphonse heard the doubt in those words.

"Yuuri, my king," Alphonse said. "This is killing you, I can see it every day. You are always in pain and tormented by nightmares that rob you of precious rest that would help you get better. I will seek this man out myself if I have to. With or without the generals' permission."

Yuuri smiled sadly. "You're too good, Alphonse, I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't want you to get into trouble."

Alphonse looked directly into Yuuri's eyes. "You are my king," He said, emphasizing each word carefully. "I am your soldier. Ensuring your safety and well-being are my sworn duties. That usurps anything the generals could to do me."

Yuuri smile widened slightly. "You remind me so much of my godfather sometimes." He said offhandedly.

Alphonse smiled back. "You're precious to many, Yuuri. I'm sure if he knew what I did, he would agree with me."

"Speaking of which," Yuuri said. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Tell who?" Alphonse blinked absently, he was distracted by Yuuri's sweet smile.

"Conrad, Gwendal and the rest."

A sudden realization dawned on the soldier. "Um...well," Alphonse hadn't quite gotten to that yet. "If you want me to."

Yuuri thought for a moment. "I don't see how it would hurt. They might be able to help you. Give you extra horses and men and all that military stuff."

Alphonse grimaced slightly in embarrassment. "I must be honest then, Yuuri," Alphonse said. "My visit to Marko…wasn't exactly authorized."

It only took Yuuri a minute to guess. "You…went to Marko without asking the others first?"

Alphonse ran nervous fingers through his wavy hair. "I'm afraid I was so dogged on getting the answers you needed that I didn't even think to follow protocol. It was a terrible breach of rank. I apologize."

Yuuri looked at him worriedly. "You could get in quite a bit of trouble for that."

Alphonse grimaced. " I know, and I take full responsibility."

"But," Yuuri continued, smile returning slightly. "Since you were acting on my orders, they can't do anything to you. You were simply following orders."

"I was?" Alphonse said stupidly. "I-I mean, of course, I was!" He said when Yuuri gave him a pointed look. "By order of my king, I went to Marko for information."

"As you should," Yuuri said resolutely and with a wink. "Merely doing your sovereign duty as a soldier of the Demon Kingdom."

Alphonse relaxed, a potential issue resolved by the divine powers of his king and master.

Yuuri giggled lightly. "You're funny, Alphonse."

"I try," Alphonse grinned. "Anything to bring a smile to my beautiful king's face."

Yuuri suddenly stiffened and looked away from Alphonse as a rosy blush colored his drawn cheeks. Alphonse nearly smacked himself in the head. Beautiful king? He felt the heat rush to his face and the embarrassment build in his stomach. Some entity had taken over his mouth and made him speak what he was thinking to his king. It made him forget that they were from different social worlds. It was highly inappropriate.

"Forgive me," he mumbled at the floor.

"It's alright," Yuuri whispered, staring at the same fixed point on the ground. "No one's ever called me beautiful before."

"Why not?" Alphonse said before he could stop himself. He immediately looked down at the spot on the floor, mentally berating himself for speaking without thinking. Again.

But Yuuri didn't seem to mind, if anything, he looked amused. "Well, when your fiancé is Wolfram von Bielefeld, the compliments are directed elsewhere." He chuckled a little.

'Yes, King Yuuri has a fiance,' Alphonse thought wistfully.

"You are, you know," Alphonse said, again his tongue working faster than his mind. 'God! Be quiet!'

Yuuri smiled politely. "Thank you. You're very kind."

"You bring out the best in me." It was meant to be light-hearted and in jest. Instead, Alphonse spoke the words with a conviction he didn't mean to express.

There was a semi-awkward moment when Yuuri stared into Alphonse's eyes. They were just as tired and sunken as they had ever been, but for a brief moment, Alphonse's words brought a dim spark to them.

The air became tense with their silence. Neither man knew how to break the heavy atmosphere that hung about them. What had been a simple conversation between friends suddenly held more unspoken meaning than anything they had ever encountered in a long time. Alphonse dared to lock gazes with Yuuri, taking in every detail of the king's exotic features, committing each trait to memory before the moment was taken away and he had to release him to another. Yuuri, in turn, held is gaze, but his face was unreadable and on edge, the only movement was his hands clenching and unclenching loose cotton trousers.

"You're not bad looking yourself," Yuuri whispered shyly, looking down at his twitching hands. He looked up at Alphonse with a demure smile and the soldier lingered just a little too long on full, pink lips.

Alphonse tried to break himself from the daze, but Yuuri was already leaning in.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

The horse hadn't even come to a full stop before Wolfram was already swinging his leg over and leaping to the muddy ground.

The heavy mist of the late morning weighed down on Wolfram's hair, blocking his vision, save for one opening between his bangs that showed him the front doors of the castle.

Nor the surprised cry of the stable by that caught his cloak or the indignant yell from his uncle inside the carriage broke Wolfram's gait or made him hesitate one second. It had already been far too long ad he wasn't going to waste another moment.

The sounds of the convoy echoed behind him as he all but ran to the doors and jogged up the stone stairs, not once breaking stride or speed, and marching down the halls of the castle. He was so close. So close! Nearly a month of being left to drive himself insane from his own worries, never knowing if Yuuri was okay had been too much for Wolfram. If he hadn't had that vision that wet morning or demanded he be allowed to go, Wolfram wasn't sure he would have been able to take it. Yuuri was in danger, Yuuri was far away from him, and it was no longer acceptable.

Wolfram vaguely heard the sounds of someone approaching him. He just barely registered his brothers' voices calling out to him in surprise and joy. Wolfram barely sent them a glance. He was on a mission and his feet and eyes were guiding him to the eastern corridors of the castle, towards the bedroom he and Yuuri shared.

"Wolfram!" Conrad jogged until he was abreast to his little brother and could keep up with his fast pace. "We didn't know you were coming! How did you make it through the rain?"

"Simple," Wolfram said curtly. "I decided I was coming home and the rain meant little."

Conrad couldn't help but smile at his brother. "We are glad to see you. We have all missed you. Yuuri has missed you most of all."

Finally, Wolfram acknowledged his brother beside him. "How is he?"

Conrad's smile faltered. "His conditioned worsened after you left - " This made Wolfram walk faster, Conrad expertly matched his speed. "But it seemed to level out after a few days, but it has not improved. His Majesty has been under great strain. We had to take over all kingly duties until he can recover."

"Is he sleeping? Is he eating?" Wolfram turned a sharp corner.

Conrad followed. "He had nightmares the first few days. But he is sleeping much better."

"Why is that?" He asked, casting a brief glance in Conrad's direction before doggedly focusing on the path at hand.

He heard the hesitation in his brother's voice. "One of your soldiers has been playing music for him and talking with him every night."

Only then did Wolfram's steps slow down. He turned his full attention to Conrad.

"Which soldier?"

"Alphonse von Weber," Conrad replied, carefully watching Wolfram for a reaction. "I think he's your lieutenant."

"I know who he is," Wolfram said shortly.

"Is he authorized to do such a thing?" Conrad asked slightly concerned.

"Surely, he came to you before he did anything." Wolfram's eyes narrowed dangerously at his brother, the old knot of jealousy slowly creeped into his gut.

"He didn't," Conrad tried not to cringe when he felt the temperature of the air around them increase. "I happened upon them when I visited Yuuri one afternoon. Yuuri said that he wanted Alphonse there and then Weber said that you told him to look after Yuuri and that was how he was going about it. Yuuri said Alphonse was under his orders and could stay. Sick as he is, Yuuri is still the king and I had to acquiesce."

"I told Alphonse to keep an eye on Yuuri," Wolfram explained with a hiss. "From a _distance_."

Conrad said nothing, but looked away with a slight grimace. He was grateful for Alphonse's help and he was glad that finally Yuuri was acting like his old happy self once again, even if it was only when Alphonse was around. Conrad noticed how close Alphonse and the king had become in Wolfram's absence. Alphonse was always nearby when Yuuri was concerned. On the one hand, Conrad was grateful that Alphonse's presence and gentle demeanor had calmed Yuuri and gave him the ability to sleep in peace. Thanks to Alphonse, there had been no nightly fiascos and Yuuri no longer submitted to fits of insanity and violence. Alphonse, and his music, was helping Yuuri heal mentally, something only one other person could do and he had been absent for nearly a month. But on the other hand, Conrad didn't miss those affectionate stares and gentle smiles Alphonse gave the king when he thought no one was watching.

Wolfram came to a sudden stop and Conrad realized that they were in front of the doors to the royal bedroom. No sound could be heard from behind the massive doors – nothing. It was almost that feeling one gets when the absence of another presence can be felt without actually seeing anyone. They both knew that Yuuri was in there, which made the absence feel all the stranger.

"His Majesty should be in," Conrad said, subtly coaxing his brother to open the door.

"I know," Wolfram huffed, trying to hide the fact that he was no longer as determined as he had been. There was something about the door – or behind the door, that unnerved him and he didn't know why. Maybe it was because of what Conrad had told him about his lieutenant. Would Alphonse be in there too?

The possibility of that being true spurred Wolfram's determination and he slowly began to turn the handle.

He suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder at Conrad as if just really noticing his presence, albeit with annoyance.

"Would you please allow me a moment with my fiancé?" Wolfram asked in a tone that meant 'go away.'

Obeying what he meant rather than what he said, Conrad smiled indulgingly as he always did, and turned to leave.

"We're glad you're back, Wolfram," He said as he walked away. "Gwendal will want to see you as soon as possible. You know that."

"Yes," Wolfram said impatiently. He waited until Conrad's footsteps were a distant echo and then silent. Then, Wolfram turned the handle.

'_Oh yes!'_

Wolfram froze. There was someone definitely in the room. It sounded like Yuuri.

A moan. The sounds of sheets rustling. Lusty giggles.

'_Hmmmm, that feels so good.'_

Wolfram's mind went blank as the sounds of lovemaking grew louder and the voices, or one of them, grew distinct.

A soft giggle, followed by another moan, a breathy sigh, and now a rhythmic thumping was added to the mix.

'_So good. More.'_

That was Yuuri's voice. Wolfram's knuckles were white around the handle, so tight that they might have left dents on the metal. Wolfram was in a state of enraged, confused shock. He was just barely able to comprehend what he was hearing and what was going on the other side of the door.

'There's no way,' he thought frantically, free hand shaking at his side as his grip tightened even more.

As if to rebut his thought, the salacious noises grew in intensity, signaling that whoever was in there was nearing their climax.

'No, no, no, no!'

'_Oh, yes!'_ Yuuri's voice was menacingly ecstatic.

Someone was in there, having sex with his fiancé, doing things to him that Wolfram had only dreamed of and here he was, listening to someone steal his fantasies and his love.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram managed to croak through his hurt and anger.

The secret lovers' coupling was at its end. A second of silence and then a scream as Yuuri's climax overtook him.

'_Oh gods! Alphonse!'_

That name broke Wolfram from his trance. Anger taking complete control, Wolfram nearly tore the door off its hinges and he snarled his way into the room, visions of soiled sheets and a spent, naked Yuuri in the arms of his lieutenant spurring his jealous fury.

"Yuuri, what the hell do you think you're-" Wolfram shrieked, hand flying to his sword, ready to kill his rival and traitorous lover. Every fear and insecurity flooded his mind, but was stopped in its tracks when he noticed the state of the room.

It was perfectly normal.

The bed was made as if the maid had just left, the room smelled of incense instead of sex, there were no naked bodies or any bodies at all. The room was untouched and empty.

Wolfram stood there in a stupor, coming down from his emotional state. Confusion replaced anger so quickly that he was left feeling dizzy.

"Wolfram?"

Wolfram whipped around to a spot in the window he was sure was empty before to see Yuuri, seated comfortably against a pile of pillows with a book, staring at him looking just was surprised and confused as he was, only it was a happy kind of surprised.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri said in disbelief, standing up from his seat. "Wolfram!"

Wolfram tried to speak, but he could only sputter, which went unnoticed by the elated young king that fell into his arms and gave him a tight hug. Wolfram's hands acted of their own accord and curved around the slim waist and brushed against the nape of his neck.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Yuuri whispered as he buried his face into Wolfram's stiff shoulder and tightened the hug further.

Wolfram's mind didn't know what to do, so it just gave him a white blank space. His emotions were severely conflicted as he was filled with happiness and relief at seeing his fiancé and anger and jealousy at what he thought had transpired behind the door. The only coherent action he could take was to encircle Yuuri and pull him close, taking in the feel and scent of his love.

"Yuuri," Wolfram breathed, finally calming his aggression and turning it into affection as his desire for Yuuri and the rare opportunity to embrace him overcame the soldier.

He felt Yuuri smile against his neck. "I missed you so much, Wolfram. So much it hurt."

Wolfram managed to respond in kind. "I missed you, too."

Yuuri smiled and snuggled closer to the blonde, who gave him a gentle squeeze whilst staring blankly out the window. This was too much for Wolfram. He had burst into the room with the intent to kill the occupants, only to find there was no infidelity at all, just his fiancé seated innocently in the windowsill. Yuuri's clothes weren't even mussed – they were plain, but neat and so was his hair. He couldn't have fixed his appearance that fast. It only added to Wolfram's mystification when Yuuri willingly embraced him without a single moment's hesitation or reluctance.

Yuuri finally pulled away and held Wolfram at arms' length, grinning brightly.

"When did you get here? How? The roads are completely destroyed," Yuuri said.

Wolfram conjured up enough coherence to answer him. "I couldn't be away from you any longer. I had to come back. No matter what it took."

Yuuri smiled, really smiled, and it was the most beautiful sight Wolfram had ever seen.

"Oh, Wolfram," Yuuri said, shaking his head at his fiancé's antics affectionately. "I knew you would come back."

"Of course," Wolfram said. "I'll always come back to you, Yuuri. I'm your fiancé."

The happy spark in Yuuri's eyes dimmed a bit but returned with full force. "Yes, my fiancé. " He hugged Wolfram to him again.

It was three simple words. A simple sentence, but it held so much meaning for Wolfram to hear Yuuri actually say it. Yuuri ignored, Yuuri tolerated, but he never accepted their engagement. Wolfram didn't know quite how to respond, so he simply returned the hug and relished in having Yuuri in his arms without fight or protest.

"Yuuri," Wolfram whispered, pulling away to cup Yuuri's chin and look into his dark eyes. There was calm there, gentleness and innocence overlaying the tired sadness that lingered beneath his gaze. Yuuri's mouth curled into attentive smile and Wolfram was overcome by a deep emotion and couldn't resist leaning in to capture one of those plump lips. Ambiguous relationship status be damned.

A cough nearly had Wolfram jumping back from his goal. He turned around with Yuuri still in his arms and looked to where the interruptive sound had come from.

The door that was still hanging wide open was pushed back a bit to reveal Alphonse leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance that was too put upon to be casual.

The deep emotion was gone and replaced by suspicion as Wolfram regarded his mysteriously present lieutenant.

"Alphonse?"

Alphonse quickly straightened his posture as if just now noticing Wolfram. He gave a stiff bow to his captain and advanced toward the couple. He had watched in complete silence as Wolfram burst into the room frantically yelling for Yuuri. It was the unsuppressed rage and accusation on Wolfram's being that made Alphonse go quiet and allow his captain to notice Yuuri seated innocently in the room. He decided that it would be best to announce himself quietly when Yuuri was able to calm his erratic fiancé. He tried his best to look professional and very not guilty.

"Captain," Alphonse greeted smoothly.

"What are you doing here?" It was meant to sound casual, but there was a distinctive edginess that didn't go unnoticed by Alphonse.

Before he could answer, Yuuri beat him to it.

"Alphonse and I were…talking," Yuuri said and it wasn't too far from the truth. They had been talking.

"Really?" Wolfram wasn't biting just yet. "About what?"

"About the book," Yuuri gestured to the abandoned novel lying where he had sat. "He suggested it to me. I get so bored all alone in this room that I need something to pass the time."

"I see," Wolfram turned to face Alphonse fully. The soldier suddenly felt very small under his captain's intimidating stance.

"Alphonse has been keeping me company," Yuuri continued innocently unaware of the way both soldiers stiffened at his words. "He's been playing his guitar and visiting me almost every day. Haven't you Alphonse?"

"More or less, your Majesty," Alphonse said stiffly. He didn't think it wise to address Yuuri by his birth name in the presence of the royal fiancé.

But Yuuri wasn't having it. "Call me Yuuri, Alphonse. You've been doing so long enough."

"You're on informal terms?" Wolfram asked Yuuri but kept pinning Alphonse with his stare.

"Yes, Wolfram. That's what friends are...informal," Yuuri said quite simply. "Alphonse and I are close friends now. We have been since you left."

Yuuri's voice was smooth as silk and just as enticing as he spoke just barely above a whisper, lips leaning in to Wolfram's ear, each word possessing a possible double meaning that only someone as jealous as Wolfram would interpret.

Something didn't sit right in the way Yuuri was staring at Alphonse over Wolfram's shoulder. He had the air of someone trying to start something, like he meant to subtly egg Wolfram on.

"Well," Wolfram replied, still never taking his eyes of Alphonse as if he would snatch away his most precious possession any second. "I'm sure that Alphonse has many obligations that he must see to now that his presence is no longer needed."

"Oh, Wolf," Yuuri tutted, sensing his fiancé's ire. "Don't be like that. Alphonse is just watching over me like you told him to. Remember?"

"_From a distance_," Wolfram nearly growled, squeezing Yuuri a little closer.

Alphonse gulped and stood straighter, trying to give off an aura of strict professionalism that belonged to someone who most definitely could not have been up to inappropriate activities in the king's bedchamber.

"All we do is talk," Yuuri said calmly. "That's all. Hey, does Greta know you're here? We should go see her! I haven't seen her in days! Let's go!"

Yuuri pulled away from Wolfram and tugged the other man by the wrist towards the door and past Alphonse. Wolfram allowed himself to be pulled away but he never stopped scrutinizing Alphonse and the soldier was sure his nervous fidgeting was interpreted as suspicion, when in reality it was due to Alphonse's own discomfort.

As Wolfram walked past Alphonse, he twisted his wrist out of Yuuri's grip but quickly took his fiancé's hand and led him out of the room. Yuuri smiled and allowed Wolfram to take him away to see their daughter.

It was so quick he almost missed it. Yuuri turned to look at Alphonse over his shoulder just as he exited into the hallway behind Wolfram. He locked eyes with Alphonse for a just a second, less than that really, but for the soldier it could have been an hour for the intensity of the malice behind those wide doe eyes.

In that single glance, so casual and carefree, Alphonse saw malevolence, he saw anger, he saw sadness, he saw despair, torment, lust, cold, and absolute destruction in those eyes within the span of a brief moment and just as quickly as it came it was gone, and replaced with a cold and knowing smirk on Yuuri's lips that disappeared when the king turned his head and the door was slammed in Alphonse's face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Why-why-why-why-why?"

Locked within his quarters at the Temple in self-incarceration, he asked the same question over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, but he never received an answer from the one who watched and laughed.

He hadn't eaten, hadn't drank, hadn't slept, hadn't known peace or quiet since he ran from his friend and encountered the being he had sealed so many thousands of years ago. He had used every bit of his spiritual strength to keep the dark aura at bay as it swirled and lilted around him, waiting like a predator for its prey to take its last breaths, but he was not dying, at least not yet, and he fought.

When his defenses broke, when his spiritual strength waned just enough, the aura attacked, eager to share with Murata memories from his past that he had, up until now, successfully hidden in the back of his own mind, drawing further and further away with each reincarnation in the hopes that they would disappear from his mind altogether.

He berated himself for such naiveté. Memories may be forgotten, but that doesn't cancel out the fact that they represented events of the past. Memory, or the absence of it, can never erase the past. The past is constant, the past is absolute. It is memories that are feeble and distant.

He experienced it all over again, every sight, smell, sound, and sensation. Every joy, every pain, every moment where he could have said something, could have spoken up against their ignorant fears and saved him, but he didn't. Taken over by selfishness and a moment of cowardice he thought he didn't possess. He failed him.

Never in his life had he felt so guilty or so afraid. Not even then, had he felt the guilt that he did now, for only now did he fully understand the consequences of what he had done. In order to save his own skin and prestige among the pure bloods and the Demon nobility, he had betrayed his own people. The risk of persecution had hung heavily over his head as the Daikenja. A young king's unstable protection secured only by his skills of strategy and sexual gratification was, unfortunately, not nearly enough to keep the accusations and the threats at bay. They hated him, they feared him, just as they feared Him who was cast in the wilderness when the uprising began and their xenophobia told them His tainted blood was proof of His treachery.

It hadn't started that way. Everything had gone well at first. He was their weapon, their tool for domination over the human savages and half-breed abominations. He magic was insurmountable. He was by all means the most powerful fighter among them.

They forgot he could feel. They failed to recall his connection with their enemies. And when they did remember, the rumors began, whispers of his sympathy for the human cretins that threatened the advancement of their far superior society. They saw the way His eyes softened when He watched the endless chain gangs of prisoners walk by to their deaths. They knew he had to be stopped.

He was too powerful to confront with spears and arrows. He could destroy a country with little effort. They had seen him do it, ordered him to do it. They knew if that godlike power was ever turned against them, they would be helpless and everything they built on the human oppression would topple before them.

They had met by accident. They were two souls brought in because of their unnatural abilities to aid the Demon cause and untie the Ten Tribes. They had come to know and understand each other. For the first time, Murata had not been alone in his outcast existence. There was someone who had the same status within his family and society, who kept him company. They were companions, they were friends and somehow, through a series of selfish decisions and unfortunate circumstances, they became enemies.

He hadn't wanted to do it. But he had no choice. He was in love then and he enjoyed the trappings and spoils of rich life. Yes, even a sage could fall prey to material gain and the love of a king. He knew better, he really did, but it was all so nice that he conveniently forgot his purpose.

At first, he refused. But they knew how to get him. They threatened him with the same persecution they had ultimately done to Him. They and Shinou, had made him swear numerous and terrible oaths that bound him, body and soul, to the Demon Kingdom. In exchange for his freedom and prestige, he gave them the tools they needed to destroy his former and first friend. He had done it.

Murata was wrenched from the past. Still lying on the floor of his bedroom. The memories and immense guilt over came him and in the last moments of sanity, he leapt from the floor and tore his room apart to search for the truth.

This had been his room after the Temple had been completed just a couple of decades after Shinou ascended the throne. It was Murata's own little home away from the pressures of noble life. Really, Shinou wanted to keep his lover out of the scrutinizing eyes of the nobility. Murata understood and was grateful to be away from the rumors and harsh words whispered behind lace fans and silk gloves,and away from Rufus's hateful stare.

He screamed in frustration, ignoring the concerned voice of Ulrike from behind his bedroom door. He had locked himself in with spells and keys, to keep the shrine maidens out. It was for their protection.

Murata scooted under his bed to search the many boxes he kept his old treasures in. Lids went flying and old antiquities spilled to the ground as he searched for the book.

"Where is it? _Where is it?_" He hissed as his search turned up empty and he threw the last box to the ground and turned to the large bookshelves that made up the walls of his room.

He attacked them wildly, ripping books from their places and flinging them open to identify them by content, all the while cursing himself for never bothering to organize or label them in any way. He growled and went through shelf after shelf, flipping, scanning, and reading each tome before angrily throwing them to his feet.

The claws tightened around his neck, they hadn't let go since they grabbed him in the oubliette so many days ago. Its grip never waned, it only got worse with each breath and memory. He could feel sharp talons piercing the skin, but if he felt his neck, he knew there would be no blood. The grip flexed against his throat when he cam across the book he had been looking for. He nearly cried out in delight when his hands wrapped around the aged cover, yellow pages cracking and chipping from the movement. Hysterical, he staggered back from the shelf, tripping over the fallen books and knick-knacks that littered the floor.

He had so little time, so little time. His sanity was hanging by a thread and he had to get the message back to the castle. It was the key to saving their king and the kingdom. He scanned the pages, recalling the ancient language of his origin as he searched the pages for the answer.

He found the page, read the passage and breathed in relief just as the aura tightened its grip to kill and the last vestige of his sanity collapsed.

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The wooden cup fell to the floor with a loud crash. He had paused in his preparations to get himself a drink when he was hit with a terrible force that tore through his body.

He automatically turned toward the direction of the capital. He had yet to have tangible visions of what lay ahead in his journey. He only knew that a shadow had cast itself over the capital city and it was centered directly above the palace. His divining instruments had told him as much, but little more, only that he needed to follow the urgent pull that led him to the main road that would lead to the city.

He choked on the remaining water in his mouth, inadvertently waking his bed partner from a light sleep. He casually composed himself and continued gathering his things and throwing them into an old leather bag with little patience for organization, something that irked his sleepy lover when he groggily noticed the haphazardly assembled belongings.

"You know, you could fit more things if you just arranged them neatly," his lover said, voice still hoarse from sleep as he watched him force the bag shut over the various divining tools, medicines, and clothing.

"No time," He grunted.

His lover sighed and sat up completely in the bed. He had to keep himself from being distracted by his lover's russet skin stretched over a slim torso. Every time he looked at Serge, it felt like the first time he had laid eyes on the amateur diviner he had met one rainy and lonely night outside a tavern in Voltaire territory three years back. His fingers tingled as he recalled their first encounter highlighted by scented candle wax in a musty rented room of that same inn and a calm breakfast the next morning. They had been together ever since.

"Where are you going?" Serge asked, fully awake now. "Gilbert?"

Gilbert picked up the bag and slung it into his back with a huff.

"I have spent so much time being hidden that it is near impossible for them to find me on their own. I have to meet them." He said urgently.

Serge frowned, but he understood. "Are you sure?" He was still concerned. "People don't tend to seek us out, Gil. They fear us."

"I know," Gilbert sighed. "But the spirits tell me that one of our kind is there and needs my help. It involves the entire country. They won't let me rest until I do."

"It could be dangerous."

"My life has been defined by danger."

"They might cast you out for what you are."

"Something tells me they are desperate."

"They might kill you."

Gilbert leaned over to stroke his lover's black hair and kiss his soft lips to dispel his worries. He allowed Serge to deepen the kiss for just a minute and he pulled away.

"No, they won't. That was many years ago. We don't have to worry about persecution as much anymore thanks to our half-breed king."

"A half-breed on the throne won't change people's opinions. It could make them worse." Serge frowned, ever the cynic.

"People fear what they don't understand," Gilbert said, just as cynical. "It's a way of life."

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Serge kissed Gilbert again, a feeble plea for him to reconsider, but they both knew that Gilbert could never ignore a warning from the spirit world.

"I will be back soon," Gilbert whispered comfortingly, stroking Serge's hair. "You won't have time to miss me."

"I'm missing you now," Serge replied. "Just…promise me you'll be careful."

"I swear before the Great One, I will return to you safely," Gilbert said with utmost solemnity.

Seemingly satisfied, Serge leaned back into soft sheets and pillows, an uncharacteristically lascivious smile stretched his lips as he let the sheet slide scandalously low on his naked hips.

"Sure you don't want one for the road?" He purred.

Gilbert cursed his worldly desires. It was stupid to travel at night anyway.

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Yes, I did it! I finished another chapter!

Why did Waltorana want to come with Wolfram?

What was Wolfram hearing outside the royal bedchamber?

What happened between Yuuri and Alphonse? The entity is sneakier than we thought, no?

What happened to Murata?

Bonus points to the first person that can guess who Gilbert Cocteau and Serge are named after. Shounen ai historians, you should know this.

Things are moving towards an end. Secrets are coming out of the woodwork, emotions will be revealed and exploited and the entity may be worthy of our sympathy.

So tell me readers. What did you think of this chapter? What do the clues mean? I want to hear your theories.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE, PLEASE READ

I am so sorry this is a month late. I told you one to two months, but so many things happened this summer. I completed a research internship at the Smithsonian Institution under the most aggravating supervisor ever, I'm preparing for a three-month study abroad trip to Europe and I will be a senior at college! It went by so fast!

I also suffered from writer's block and lack of inspiration. But it was quickly cured with a download of the movie Insidious. Gave me lots of ideas! If you haven't seen it you should, the scene in the Further freaked me the hell out! If you've already seen it then wasn't it great? I also saw Grave Encounters, which turned out to be a bad idea as I have been unable to sleep since then. Why do I do this to myself?

With that said, I want to let you guys know that I will be in Europe for three months from September to December. I'm not sure if I will have time to work on my stories or post them as I'm not sure how internet access is going to work and they will have us traveling a lot so I might not have time to write as quickly as I want to. So I'm just warning you now so no one freaks out. This story is not going to be abandoned, I promise. It's just going to be slow. I apologize and please don't give up on this story or me. It will continue and be completed before we all die from the 2012 apocalypse.

With that, I wish you all the best as you get ready to head back to school. Please keep this story in your thoughts. Please review, so I know what you're thinking and I hope to get in contact with you again soon!

REVIEW! Ahem, per pavore…

Kisses - EB


	14. Chapter 14 Disappearance

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 14

Let me start by offering my profuse apologies for the long wait. Italy took up more of my time than I had previously assumed and my free moments were spent traveling, writing research papers, studying and learning a new language. Thank you a million times over for your patience and support and I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Your input is always welcome. For those of you who tried to guess, most of you were correct. Gilbert and Serge are named after one of the earliest examples of shounen ai. It's one of my favorites. If you haven't already, go check out Kaze To Ki No Uta.

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 14 – Disappearance

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It was still dark when Yuuri opened his eyes. For a moment, his body stiffened in fear of what lurked in the early morning shadows. Lying dead still, he opened one eye and surveyed the room as best he could from lying on his side. Sluggishly, he lifted one hand to wipe away the cold sweat from his forehead. He rarely awoke from a night's sleep or an afternoon's nap without being slightly dampened by perspiration. Even if he wasn't plagued by a nightmare, he still awoke with damp clothes and was forced to change.

For once, the dream that woke him wasn't scary or sad. It was of him sitting in a courtyard that he was sure was the one of Blood Pledge. However, it looked so different, not as polished or modern, but the walkways, stone balconies and windows were all the same. He kept hearing a woman's voice calling him, laughing and teasing and his voice teasing and calling her right back, but he never saw her. He felt her, but he couldn't see who the owner of the voice was.

She had called his name several times, but it wasn't his name. He couldn't remember what exactly she had called him, but it wasn't Yuuri.

Moaning softly, Yuuri groggily shifted over to get a better view of his room. He stared lankly into the darkness, just barely noticing the tiny line of deep red outside the window. Yuuri wondered why the curtains were drawn. Usually, they were shut at night, because Yuuri needed to rest and he couldn't rest with the sun shining on him.

A soft sigh from his left and Yuuri realized he wasn't alone. For the briefest second, he startled, fearing it was another 'visitor.' They sometimes crawled into his bed at night, whispering their stories and their sins to the one person who could hear them and maybe even give a damn. Unfortunately, Yuuri didn't, but he was forced to hear them nonetheless.

This visitor was solid….and warm…and sleeping. Yuuri squinted at the dim outline of the figure as his mind tried to recall the identity of this person. Yuuri relaxed and gave a silent 'oh' when he remembered that Wolfram had returned yesterday.

Wolfram returned. Wolfram came back. Wolfram came back. Yuuri slumped back into his spot on the bed and scooted just a little closer to his fiancé. He felt overwhelming relief at the soldier's presence in his bed. So many nights he had spent alone in this room, tormented and scared, afraid to close his eyes or even breathe, lest he alert them to his presence. It was a silly thing, they always knew he was there; they just liked to mess with him.

Wolfram must have opened the curtains. Unlike Yuuri, he needed to be up early everyday and the window was directly in the path of the sunrise, making it easy for Wolfram to wake with the sun.

Yuuri unconsciously shifted even closer to Wolfram. He breathed in the scent that had disappeared from that side of the bed weeks ago and smiled slightly.

Yuuri hadn't realized just how much he had missed Wolfram until the soldier appeared in his bedroom door, damp from the rain. Yuuri was so shocked and surprised to see Wolfram that it wasn't until after the fact that he realized Wolfram's stance and expression wasn't that of joy or relief. It was of jealousy and murderous rage and it was directed at him.

Yuuri tilted his head forward so that it brushed against Wolfram's shoulder. He listened for a moment to the steady breathing as he coped with the confused guilt he felt at what had transpired in his room just seconds before Wolfram burst in.

Alphonse had called him beautiful. Yuuri didn't think Wolfram had ever said that to him. Wolfram wasn't the type. But Alphonse had said it and made nervous jitters well up in Yuuri's stomach. Then Alphonse went quiet and stared at him. Yuuri stared back in anticipation – for what, he didn't know - then Alphonse began to lean in….closer…even closer….so close Yuuri could see the freckles on Alphonse's cheeks right as the soldier lightly brushed his lips against Yuuri's.

Yuuri had been so shocked that he didn't move for a second. Alphonse pressed in just a little, obviously lost in his own world, but it was enough for Yuuri to remember his place and Yuuri jolted back like he had been burned, scrambling back onto the bed to place some well needed distance between him and Alphonse.

Alphonse had jolted back as if burned as well, staring back at Yuuri with a look of yearning that quickly transformed into a look of guilt and embarrassment. Yuuri just glared back and got off the bed completely to sit in the windowsill, picking up a book absentmindedly that was in his way and clutching it.

"Y-your Majesty…" Alphonse had stuttered, looking at Yuuri desperately from his distant spot beside the bed. "Forgive me….forgive me. That was unacceptable."

"You shouldn't have done that!" Yuuri replied accusingly.

Alphonse looked down in shame. "My deepest apologies."

"I-I have a fiancé." Yuuri whispered.

Alphonse flinched and looked away.

"I have a fiancé…" Yuuri repeated as much to himself as to Alphonse.

They stayed like that staring in every direction except at each other. After a long awkward silence, Yuuri spoke up, voice quiet but cold.

"I think you should go…"

Alphonse slowly stood up from his spot, looking guilty and….rejected, slowly walking towards the door.

Alphonse was just about to open it when he turned back to say something else, but was caught off when he was nearly crushed by the violently swinging door and an angry Wolfram.

Yuuri's mind was brought back to the present when Wolfram mumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his back, his profile starkly visible against the light from the moon. While he had broken the kiss, Yuuri still felt guilty for what had happened. No matter what the status of their strange relationship was, Yuuri respected Wolfram too much to do anything that would cause the other man embarrassment. Yuuri had done that enough already in his younger years, he didn't need to add to their strife. He cared for Wolfram deeply, deeper than any friendship he had ever had in his life, and he trusted Wolfram more than anyone else. He would never do anything that could cause Wolfram hurt, no matter what.

"You're too good to me…" Yuuri whispered hoarsely. Wolfram's only response was a soft snort and more incoherent mumbling. Yuuri chuckled quietly. Wolfram had a talent for being unintentionally funny or adorable. He knew the blonde hated being called cute, but he really was. Yuuri thought he was, it was one of the things he liked most about his uppity fiancé.

On an impulse, Yuuri slowly circled his arms around Wolfram's torso and pulled him so that he was flush against his side. Yuuri rested his head on Wolfram's chest and listened to the steady heartbeat. Had it been a couple of years ago, Yuuri would have never touched Wolfram in such a way. Hell, a few months ago he wouldn't have dared. But it felt so good to have someone with him, so good to feel safe and protected, even if Wolfram was dead asleep, Yuuri still felt like nothing could hurt him now that Wolfram was there with him.

"I missed you," Yuuri said for what had to be the seventeenth time since he and Wolfram were reunited. He had to keep saying it over and over again just so he could understand how much he really did. Wolfram here made all the nightmares and torment of the past three weeks melt away and be replaced by calm and security. Two things Yuuri hadn't felt in ages.

Wolfram always made Yuuri feel better no matter what. He didn't even have to do or say anything, just having him by his side was enough to give Yuuri the calm and confidence he needed just to face each day. He could tell Wolfram anything and every moment spent with Wolfram was increasingly treasured in Yuuri's mind. He couldn't imagine his life without Wolfram.

'_Traitor!"_

Yuuri immediately went still. Despite the budding sunrise, the room went dark and Yuuri felt a distinct chill run through the room and then his spine as His voice echoed inside his mind.

'_Traitorous whore!'_

Yuuri disentangled himself from the warm embrace and clambered back to his side of the bed. He glared down at Wolfram's still form, trying to make sense of the foreign emotions running through his mind that were directed at his sleeping fiancé. The emotions tore through Yuuri so fast he barely had time to fully identify them. He only knew that they weren't his.

Anger, betrayal, sorrow, jealousy, and hatred; So many feelings at once that Yuuri was dizzy and slumped down into the blankets and pillows, cowering as each feeling paraded through his psyche as he struggled to fight the urge to hurt Wolfram.

'Stop! Stop! Oh god…please stop!'

'_Traitor!'_

'No!_'_ Yuuri whimpered in his mind, pulling the covers up to his chin like a child. _'_He loves me. Wolfram loves me. He's not like that!'

The dark chuckle echoed all around the room and inside Yuuri's body.

'_Stupid boy…'_

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Yuuri jolted awake from the nightmare. He laid there in bed, panting and covered in a cold sweat. He looked around the room. It was empty, which was unusual for he always awoke to some random spirit milling about his room, trying to talk to him. But this time, he was left in peace.

He slowly relaxed back into the mattress. He paused when he noticed that there was a second figure in the bed beside him. His body went tense for a moment, but the familiar smell and the memories from earlier calmed him.

He yawned widely as he carefully disentangled himself from Wolfram's arms. He noticed that Wolfram was wearing his old pink nightgown. That was odd. Wolfram stopped wearing it a couple of years ago stating that it "wasn't doing the job anymore" when he had first said it Yuuri didn't know what the eccentric prince had meant. Now he did.

Since then, Wolfram only wore a simple cotton shirt and trousers to bed. Sometimes he wore a sleeveless shirt in the summer, but that was about it.

Yuuri almost missed the nightgown, it reminded him of his brief adolescence, of a time when he actually somewhat enjoyed his job, when everything was sparkly and new. The plain blue cotton of Wolfram's nightclothes just reminded him of how much time had passed since he had felt like himself.

Sighing, Yuuri got up from bed and went to the washroom. He happened to glance out of the window as he passed. The sky was now a pale grey, signaling that it was late morning.

"How late did I sleep?" Yuuri mumbled. Though he hadn't had to work in weeks, he still didn't like oversleeping. It threw off his day.

He looked back at the sleeping demon. 'Poor Wolfram. He looks exhausted,' Yuuri thought.

Yuuri walked into the washroom, shivering slightly from the chill, already missing the warm covers. He grabbed a washtowel and dipped it into the basin of cold water. He rubbed his face against the soft cloth, wiping away the lasting effects of drowsiness.

He dropped the cloth into the bowl with a splash and looked to view his reflection in the mirror.

He balked.

Yuuri reached a shaky hand to his sunken cheek. There was no way the person in the mirror could have been him! The waif that stared back at him was the most pitiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Inky black eyes set in blue circles on a ghoulishly white face looked at him with a sad, hopeless expression. The cheeks were sunken in; the jaw was framed by stringy black hair matted with sweat. Dry lips were stretched into a small grimace and formed a disgusted sneer when Yuuri looked on in repulsion at the lifeless being he had become in so short a time.

He tentatively touched a clammy hand to his cheek and the man in the mirror perfectly mimicked the movement. He didn't have to press hard to feel the bones underneath his skin. He had very little appetite in the past weeks and what little food he could swallow was thrown up an hour later thanks to the medicine he took. Yuuri looked like death.

'I'm dying," he thought in despair. 'I'm dying.'

The image in the glass started to blur and swim. Yuuri stared in wonderment as the image swam and morphed and he was not looking at his own pathetic self, but into another world made of darkness and burning flames.

'Please no,' Yuuri begged silently. He hated these moments when his world melded or even disappeared into another. He hated that he and his tormentor were one in the same and thus the memories of a life he had never known would seep into his psyche. He didn't know if it was purposefully done by Him or if they were simply a by-product of their union.

He hated the visions. They were little more than random snippets, more an image connected to an emotion rather than a coherent event. They rarely made sense and they were never lineal in their order. They came and went as all distant memories do, bubbling up into his mind and then just as quickly disappearing until they came again. He hated the visions because of their anarchic tendencies and the pain they caused him.

The room beyond the mirror was fully formed now. He saw that it wasn't a room, but a torture chamber. He could make out the various instruments meant to maim and tear hanging on the walls. The chamber held four figures. One was naked and chained to the ceiling by his wrists, his feet barely brushing against the floor, his face hidden by a veil of filthy dark hair. The other three stood around him, a sharp contrast to the unfortunate soul in their fine robes glinting with precious stones and gold thread in the firelight. One of the three noblemen was holding an iron poker, heated red hot at the end. Yuuri detected the faint scent of burned skin.

One of the men, the most luxuriously dressed, was saying something to the victim. The prisoner lifted his head weakly up and Yuuri saw the defiant glare in black eyes. The prisoner mumbled something, an insult, for the man with the poker moved to stand behind him and drag the hot metal across his back which was already covered in several smoking lashes. He asked the prisoner again. And again, the prisoner remained silent.

The richly dressed man was about to give the other permission to proceed when the prisoner finally spoke. Thought he couldn't hear the words, Yuuri knew it was not the confession they wanted. Instead it was an accusation. A claim of the hypocrisy and prejudice that the three men inadvertently defended, a claim of the horrors and genocide that the three royals steadfastly justified for the sake of their pure kingdom. The prisoner accused them of using him and his people as scapegoats to fuel the hatred the demon tribes felt for them to cover up something deeper, something much more selfish and heinous.

The noble became angry at the truth of the prisoner's words. He told the prisoner that this was just the beginning and his arrogance would be his undoing. The prisoner said that he would endure whatever they did to him with the god's blessing.

The iron was lifted, the prisoner stiffened, bravery could not save him from the pain. The iron was touched to his mutilated back and the room was filled anew with the scent of burning skin, the prisoner threw back his head and screamed in agony, his face finally becoming illuminated by the torchlight.

The prisoner's head lolled to the side, his face was fully visible now. Yuuri gasped in shock when he locked eyes with this prisoner through the looking glass.

It was his face.

"Maou?" Yuuri choked, frozen in place as the man stared back at him.

As if he had heard Yuuri call him, the man who looked like Yuuri's other half stared blankly at him. The three interrogators didn't seem to notice that their victim had gone silent.

He looked just like him….it was him! Yuuri saw his own features replicated perfectly in the other man. If it was an illusion caused by his ravaged mind or if he was looking as some past self, he didn't know, but he wished it was the former. The man wore an expression of realization - of recognition. He pinned Yuuri with his knowing gaze, becoming oblivious to the immense pain and the harsh words of his captors.

The man with the dozens of burning scars across his torso, paused for a moment and Yuuri became afraid. The tortured man smiled – smiled! His captors even noticed, one of them turning to follow the prisoner's gaze.

Yuuri didn't know how he knew the person who was staring in his direction – not at him as the prisoner could – but he immediately recognized Murata's first incarnation.

It was the same straight black hair, the narrow, calculating eyes, that same all-knowing expression that was currently trying to discover what it was that distracted their charge. But there was something else in his eyes that Yuuri had never seen on his friend before – instead of calm control, there was guilty uneasiness. It was a look of doubt that was completely foreign to Yuuri's memories of his all-knowing friend.

Yuuri was compelled to return his gaze to the prisoner. This time, the doppelganger was staring at Yuuri with thinly veiled anger and hatred, something that the demon king had felt, but had never seen – and it left him breathless.

Chapped lips quivered until they were stretched into a sneer. They remained still, but Yuuri heard every single word as if they were whispered right into his ear.

'_Hate them! Hate them!'_

For a split second, the hatred was his own. Yuuri was filled with a burning abhorrence for those who betrayed him and used him, those who made promises they callously broke and threw him aside like the toy he always was. Yuuri hated them more that he had ever hated anything in his life. Hated them so much it scared him.

He vaguely registered himself falling back, the clanking of various shampoo bottles and soaps entered his mind, but they were distant sounds outside his focus. Yuuri only heard and felt the words of the prisoner who was he. He felt them merging, felt himself disappearing into that dark, painful memory.

'I hate them…' he heard his own voice echo against his mind as he fell to the floor. 'I hate them all.'

'Hate them! Hate them!' his other half commanded, muscles straining at the chains that bound him. The man was shaking now, the chains rattling from the tremors in his body as the three demon lords looked on in confusion.

Finally, the richest man, the one dressed in the most expensive clothing, turned to the Daikenja and then turned to face where Yuuri lay in the washroom, shaking with anger at the unknown crimes these two men committed.

Blue eyes met his. Shinou.

Yuuri's back arched away from the wall that supported him. He let out a shocked cry when a terribly burning pain seared across his back and the smell of his own skin burning filled his nostrils. Yuuri fell into a convulsing heap, desperately clawing at his back to stop whatever was causing the burning pain.

But there was nothing there. His hands only grasped air and his own melting skin. He cried out again as line after line of brands were lain across his back, arms, and legs. He screamed and cursed, begged for help, but his cries were silent. Through his agonized tears, he looked out of the tiny washroom and to his bed, where his fiancé and protector was supposed to be. Why didn't Wolfram hear his screams?

There was another figure on the bed. Black hair peaked out from under the coverlet, still snuggled against Wolfram's sleeping form, squirming in discomfort from a vivid nightmare, arms squeezing harder around Wolfram's shoulders for comfort.

It was too much. It was him on the bed. He was dreaming, but he knew this was real. It was all in his mind, but it was happening right before him. The mirror was a window into his past, his true self. This was an awakening It was an enlightenment. He saw and he knew. He knew that it had been him all along.

When he awoke in the living world, it would be over. His fight had been for nothing. He had been fighting himself the entire time and he was lost no matter what he did, no matter what drugs he took, music he listened to or hopes he had, he had lost the moment he saw the cloaked figure for the first time.

'I'm sorry,' he thought through the searing pain. 'I hate you.'

'_Hate them!'_

Yuuri fell.

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Alphonse was back in his room serving a self-imposed exile. He hadn't seen the king or his captain since yesterday and he was half-content to keep it that way.

What the hell had gotten into him? If the king hadn't stopped him, he didn't know what he would have done, had he been allowed to continue.

He tried to kiss the king. He kissed the king! Not only did he impose himself on the king, but he imposed himself on his captain's – someone he admired greatly – fiancé. King Yuuri was betrothed to Captain Bielefeld and all the castle knew of the deep love the demon prince held for the young boy king. The entire castle knew that only a madman would try to take what belonged to Bielefeld.

'I am a madman,' Alphonse thought. 'Have been for a while now.'

What was happening to him? He had only come to Yuuri out of concern and care for his master and sovereign. He only wanted to make sure that Yuuri survived this awful change and probably keep that Marko from ruining his life the way he had ruined Alphonse's.

He wasn't supposed to be thinking these things – feeling these things. He wasn't supposed to feel pleasure when his mouth so gently ghosted against the king's own lips.

'What's wrong with me?'

Alphonse was ashamed of himself. He had taken advantage of Yuuri's- the King's condition to appease his own buried longings. It was pathetic and shameful. It was wonderful.

"_I have a fiancé."_

That simple statement had affected Alphonse more than it should have. It had awakened a feeling of hurt and jealousy that he had no right to have. The thought that ran across his mind was not "I should be ashamed" but instead it was "Why does he think of his fiancé and not me? Am I not here for him when Bielefeld is not?"

He was disgusted at his weakness.

Yuuri had run from him. Yuuri had thrown himself back like Alphonse had burned him and stared at the solider with a look of shock and indignation mixed with another look that Alphonse didn't want to acknowledge. Alphonse just wanted to feel Yuuri's lips again.

Alphonse hated himself more because when his lips touched Yuuri's own, it wasn't the king he saw. Black hair and matching black eyes were superimposed over the blurry image of brown hair and amber eyes. It was Yuuri….It was Nikki.

He saw Nikki in the king and his mind acted accordingly. Alphonse wanted to kiss Yuuri for he felt in him his lost lover. He wanted Yuuri and he wanted Nikki. He wanted them both. Years of guilt and sorrow and loneliness culminated into a single moment of weakness that jeopardized the tentative trust he had earned from the king.

'_I think you should go.'_

Was it wrong that those words hurt Alphonse so? It was like the ultimate rejection. Yuuri had seen his weakness and guilt and still he dismissed Alphonse. That was how the soldier knew he had really messed up. When he looked into the young king's eyes at those stony words, he saw not the desire that he felt - he only saw indignation mixed with pity.

It had only gotten worse from there. Alphonse had stood, ready to leave with his tail between his legs and then Bielefeld burst in, nearly crushing Alphonse behind the door. He had watched the blonde come in like a man out for murder and had only a moment to look confused before he saw the king practically leap into his fiancé's arms. Alphonse had to swallow the lump in his throat along with the tiny prickling of jealousy that welled up inside him when he saw how Yuuri's face lit up at seeing Bielefeld at last.

They had exchanged some words – Alphonse hadn't bothered to listen in until his name was called. He was too fixated on their almost kiss and then rejection. It wasn't until Yuuri looked at him with that sinister stare that Alphonse was brought back to reality.

Alphonse turned his head to look at the little oval portrait of his late fiancé. Niklas's smiling face looked back at him with that same caring gaze that had caught his attention ten years ago.

Niklas had been a first year student in the military academy when Alphonse first met him. He could recall their first meeting clearly as if it was yesterday. Nikki walking into the classroom with his books, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed pink with his shyness. He took the last seat available, which happened to be right in front of Alphonse's chair. Alphonse had spent the entire class period memorizing every detail of the simple beauty that was Niklas – his hair tied in a wavy low ponytail, the wisps of hair that escaped the tie and framed his round face, the way his clothes always smelled freshly cleaned and the delicate way he held his pen as he took notes from the lecture.

It would be another month before Niklas and Alphonse said a single word to each other. It was a chance meeting outside on the training grounds that would mark the beginning of their romance. From that point, Alphonse would finally understand what it was like to fall in love with someone.

Their union was unwelcome. Niklas was an odd young half-breed demon that through some strange happenstance was able to use water magic – the only one who could do so in the entire class and the academy for that matter. People like Niklas weren't supposed to use magic, thus Niklas was an oddity at his school and a freak with his classmates. Alphonse became somewhat of an outcast himself when their romance was found out, but Alphonse didn't care. He had love in his arms and he wasn't letting go for anything.

"I wish your were here, Nikki," Alphonse said sadly. "I need you so much, it's maddening."

An image of the king popped up in Alphonse's mind. Oh how the two seemed so alike! Everything the king did made Alphonse think of Nikki, His movements, his innocence, his sweet smile…his lips. Even his disease brought back painful memories. The king was awakening feelings and memories in Alphonse that the soldier had, until now, successfully buried within the recesses of his mind. Ten years of loneliness and guilt were begging to be assuaged by the king's kind soul.

"I'm in over my head…"

"You're not alone…."

Alphonse sat bolt upright on his bed. "Who said that?"

He was alone in his room. He was alone with his things shoved into the cramped space illuminated by a small candle that cast the various objects and knickknacks in dark shadows. He was completely alone.

But he could gave sworn he heard someone.

"Is anyone there?" He called again, feeling more than a little stupid speaking to the air. But he couldn't shake the feeling of something being in his room, watching him.

He looked to the far side of his bedroom. The Far right corner was darker than any other part of the small room. It was just out of reach of the candles and the scant light from outside casting it in constant shadow.

"_Alphonse."_

Alphonse continued to stare at the corner as the shadow slowly formed into a slender figure. He watched in awe as the figure stepped out slowly from the corner and moved to stand at the foot of his bed.

"Yuuri?" Alphonse whispered.

"_Alphonse,"_ Yuuri whispered brokenly.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here?" Alphonse asked in confusion. Yuuri slowly walked closer to the bed.

"_I need you, Alphonse, my Alphonse,"_ Yuuri whispered, his voice and face changing into someone Alphonse hadn't laid eyes on in ten years.

Alphonse's body went rigid and cold with shock.

"Nikki?"

As the apparition approached the bed, it kept flickering between Niklas and Yuuri with every step. Alphonse crawled backwards until he hit the headboard as the vision smiled sweetly as it came closer to the bed.

'What is happening?' he thought frantically as the vision crawled onto the bed. Alphonse was too frozen with fear and confusion to even contemplate escape. 'I'm dreaming!'

"_Help me, Alphonse"'_ came the voices of both Nikki and Yuuri, from the vision's only mouth. The vision changed again, this time settling on Nikki's face but with Yuuri's eyes. It lashed out a hand to grab at Alphonse's shirt. The soldier screamed in surprise and tried to get away, but the hand was too strong.

"_Help me"_' the apparition pleaded, sounding frightened and pained.

"Let go of me!" Alphonse shouted.

But the apparition held fast. _"I can't fight him! Alphonse, listen! You have to tell the others! Tell Wolfram!"_

Alphonse ceased struggling and stared up at the creature in shock. "What?"

Suddenly, the apparition backed away as if burned by Alphonse. The spirit frantically looked about the room as if it was listening for something. It flickered again between Yuuri and Nikki, before settling on the king's form. The room was darkened by a heavy presence that loomed over them. The apparition became transparent and began to fade away into the air.

Alphonse jumped up from the bed, reaching out to the apparition, his fear forgotten. "Wait!"

The vision looked at him in terror._ "I'm out of time," _it whimpered.

"I don't understand!" Alphonse pleaded. The apparition was barely visible now and seemed to be in pain. The presence in the room grew, nearly suffocating the solider.

"_It's not me,"_ came the apparition's voice, this time it was distinctly Yuuri's. _"It's not me. It's not me!"_

"Come back!" Alphonse shouted, but the apparition was gone and so was the presence. The room became lighter and Alphonse was left alone to make sense of what just happened.

"Niklas…"Alphonse said weakly, sinking back into the bed. "Yuuri…come back."

A thousand different thoughts flittered across Alphonse's panicked mind. He tried vainly to make sense of it all, but no mater how many times he replayed what had just happened in his mind, he was still left in confusion. He had seen Niklas, his Niklas, but it wasn't him, it was Yuuri, but it wasn't. Yuuri pleaded with him to warn the others but of what?

"_He's taken me…"_

Alphonse's obsessive mind went immediately to Marko. The doctor was likely the culprit. He was the only person Alphonse could think of that would be able to cause Yuuri such harm.

But this was more than that.

"_It's not me…"_

Alphonse's jumbled mind failed to come up with an explanation. A dreadful feeling clawed up his chest. The apparition's final words echoed through Alphonse's thoughts as he lay there motionless and alarmed.

Alphonse's head lolled drearily to the side. His first moment of clarity came when he looked upon the small oval portrait of Niklas, smiling gently back at him. Just seconds ago he had seen that very same face, briefly but clearly, looking at him with desperation and sadness before changing into the face of his king.

"_It's not me…"_

He really wanted it to just be a bad dream, a nightmare brought on from temporary insanity caused by stress. He wanted to ignore the sense of foreboding scratching obnoxiously at the back of his psyche.

Not a nightmare, but a vision, a warning from his king. A warning that Alphonse would have to give the others or, he feared, all would be lost.

It would be nigh unthinkable. They would call him mad and maybe dismiss him from service. They would ignore him and continue to do what they where doing, which was following the orders of a man who didn't know nearly as much as he thought he did. However, Alphonse had to try, if only to quell the apparition that had presumably just visited him and his own sense of urgency.

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Wolfram rolled over sluggishly and reached out with his arm to fall onto the cold spot on the bed where his fiancé should have been. Wolfram shook off the last effects of drowsiness when he realized his fiancé was no longer in bed with him. He slowly sat up and groggily looked around the room.

He was alone. There was no sign of his wandering fiancé in the room at all, no sign that he had ever been there. But the memory of finally holding his Yuuri close through the night told him that he had indeed been with him.

Wolfram didn't miss when Yuuri, of his own volition, snuggled close to him during the night. He didn't miss the whispered words of "I missed you" when Yuuri rested his head on his shoulder. He certainly didn't miss it when Yuuri awoke him during the throes of a vivid nightmare as Wolfram held him even tighter to comfort him through his fears.

Wolfram frowned with worry. He had tried to wake Yuuri from his nightmare, but just as he shook Yuuri a little harder, the nightmare seemed to end, and Yuuri settled back into sleep with a whimper. Wolfram cursed himself for being such a heavy sleeper and not catching it sooner, but he held Yuuri all the tighter and refused to let go during the rest of the night. Now that Yuuri was no longer in his arms, Wolfram was determined to find him.

Yuuri had looked so frail and tired when he first saw him again. Every movement seemed to cause the young man discomfort. Wolfram's heart broke when Yuuri weakly informed him that he had not been able to eat properly because of the drugs he was taking to ease his symptoms.

Wolfram slowly got out of bed, intent on locating Yuuri. He wanted to find his fiancé and have a much needed talk about his condition. He absently noted that their upcoming nuptials would have to be postponed, maybe even cancelled, until Yuuri's health was back on track.

Wolfram's heart fluttered. It felt so good to hold his love like that, to be needed by him. It was a rare thing for Wolfram to be able to be near Yuuri the way a fiancé should be. He lived for every moment like that and he quickly soaked it up when Yuuri would bestow him some kind of genuine affection. It gave Wolfram hope.

Maybe Yuuri was in the bath? That would explain why he wasn't present. Yuuri would sometimes take a bath in the morning when he wasn't feeling well or stressed.

As he passed through the room on his way to the narrow door that directly connected their bedroom to the private baths, Wolfram stole a glance at the nearby clock on a shelf.

'Almost nine?' he thought in mild surprise. Wolfram rarely slept that late. Most of his days began at four-thirty in the morning.

'I've been so tired,' he thought as he walked towards the bathing room door. He had rarely spent a night that was not tormented by fragmented dreams that involved his fiancé in suffering - each one darker than the last. His mind was clouded with visions of his fiancé in bloodied clothes, begging for his help, begging him for mercy.

'What am I going to do?'

Wolfram slowly opened the door. The room was dark and no steam from the bath seeped into the room to indicate that anyone was using the bath. Wolfram peered in around the door and didn't see Yuuri anywhere.

Wolfram sighed. Maybe Yuuri had gone to breakfast or to see the doctor? Wolfram frowned, he would have to find a moment with his brothers and discuss the issue of Doctor Marko. There was something off about that man and Wolfram didn't like him around Yuuri.

Wolfram closed the door and turned around to head back into the room and get dressed.

Wolfram looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin. A tall figure was standing in front of the large window staring out into the distance, still as a statue.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram gasped, trying to still his rapidly beating heart. "You scared me!"

Yuuri didn't respond, he didn't seem to have even heard Wolfram. He just continued to stare out the window. He was still in his usual blue pajamas, albeit they were disheveled and his shirt hung open. He had a blank expression on his face and he remained fixated by some distant thing outside.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said, voice laced with concern. He could have sworn he was alone in the room. How long had Yuuri been standing there? How had Wolfram not seen him? He was certain he had looked in that area of the room and it had been empty. Yuuri must have just come in, but how did he enter without Wolfram hearing him?

"Yuuri," Wolfram said again as he joined Yuuri at his side. He followed Yuuri's gaze out of the window. He only saw the courtyard, beyond that the city, the city gates and finally, Shinou's Temple just beyond a group of trees.

Still, Yuuri said nothing. Wolfram turned his gaze over to Yuuri to try to crack the code that was his fiancé. He took in Yuuri's fine features. Wolfram found himself momentarily distracted by his fiancé's features. Despite the wan, and pale look accentuated by dark circles underneath his tired, watery eyes, Yuuri still looked beautiful to Wolfram.

Wolfram felt both close and far away from Yuuri. The prince desperately wanted to hold Yuuri close and never let him go, to will away all the torment he had endured these past weeks. Yuuri needed him, but Wolfram was hesitant and unsure of what to do or if he would be accepted. Many years spent in constant rejection had left him wary, even scared, to show any kind of affection, unless it was under the cover of night.

Wolfram summoned up enough courage to reach out to touch Yuuri's shoulder.

"Yuuri, what's wrong?" he whispered gently.

Yuuri didn't flinch or recoil when Wolfram's hand gently landed on his shoulder. He just kept staring into the distance, fixated on Shinou's Temple.

"Yuuri, please talk to me," Wolfram pleaded, Yuuri's silence was scaring him. Yuuri's body was so stiff, he felt so cold to Wolfram.

Finally, Yuuri slowly turned his head to stare at Wolfram, expression never changing from its stone mask. Wolfram looked into Yuuri's black eyes. They were sharp and chilling, the usual warmth and kindness were gone replaced by maliciousness and cold.

The corner of Yuuri's mouth twitched and then stretched into a sneer before turning back to stare out of the window, much to Wolfram's frustration and apprehension.

"The demon tribe," Yuuri began slowly, voice deep and husky, "worships a false god and traitors."

Wolfram took a step back from Yuuri in confusion. Something wasn't right with Yuuri.

"What….do you mean?" Wolfram asked hesitantly.

Yuuri looked at Wolfram again, this time there was a predatory look in his eyes.

"You will see…my darling fiancé," Yuuri replied with a serpentine smirk.

Yuuri suddenly turned and walked away from Wolfram and the window, leaving the shocked soldier behind. A servant had knocked on the door to remind the king of his check up with Marko, but Wolfram never heard the curt exchange, he was too preoccupied with fighting back the sharp chills coursing down his spine.

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Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks. Something had happened.

The air had gone completely still, yet the clouds above him continued to swirl and twist their way towards the capital. Even the rain had come to a complete stop and the wooded road upon which he traveled was heavy with silence.

Powers had shifted. The spirit world was uneasy, that much he could tell. Rolling waves of dark energy ebbed and flowed like waves upon a shore, pushing him ever closer to the Great Demon City.

Whenever the energy surged, he was rendered still by the sorrow, rage, and suffering the spirit had endured during its lifetime. The spirit was no longer the soul it had once been. It was rotted and corrupted beyond recognition. A festering collection of what may have once been a good person, but tragedy and a terrible ending had left the soul to wander in despair until it mutated into complete darkness.

This spirit energy was different however. It had power. It was no ordinary vengeful geist out for retribution. This was something much bigger and much more sophisticated and it involved the young demon king. That much, Gilbert was certain of.

Gilbert urged his old tired horse on. The horse groaned when Gilbert dug in his heels to urge the creature on. The horse took five more steps before it stopped dead in its tracks, ears anxiously quirked to the front.

"What's wrong, boy?" Gilbert started to ask, but the second his began to speak, he knew exactly what had stopped the horse from moving.

The early evening air went still and cold, the spiritual energy stopped is steady ebb and flow to come to a complete still right in front of Gilbert and in a snake like manner coiled itself around the figure standing ahead of him silhouetted by the clouds and dimming light.

The figure stood some ways from Gilbert, far enough for him to see that it was a male, but too far for him to make out any features. The man's face seemed clouded and veiled both by his stringy long hair and by the dark aura surrounding him.

Even though he couldn't see his face, Gilbert knew the man was staring right at him with unhidden malice.

For a while Gilbert couldn't speak. This man wasn't human or demon. He wasn't natural or good. He frightened Gilbert and Gilbert didn't scare easily – not with his line of work. But this man struck him in a way that no malicious spirit had before. Like he had sensed only moments prior; this geist had power.

Gilbert, despite his apprehension, found the ability to speak. "Who are you?"

"Turn around, Verschmelzung," the man sneered. The gravelly voice came from every direction and pressed into Gilbert just to show him it wasn't a suggestion.

"Why?" It was tricky and dangerous to question a spirit, but Gilbert stood his ground.

"There is nothing for you here," the spirit answered. Its demeanor intrigued Gilbert. It wasn't the blind spite of a regular geist; this was more advanced, more sophisticated, and…conscious.

"Pray tell me why that is so?" Gilbert responded calmly, keeping his voice level and respectful. Spirits were tempestuous and He knew he was at a disadvantage if he inadvertently angered the geist.

The man quirked his head to the side, appearing to size Gilbert up. Gilbert kept his calm demeanor and waited patiently. This was definitely no ordinary angered geist.

"He is mine now. There's nothing you can do to help them. You are too late," the man explained with an unsubtle hint of grim satisfaction.

"Who is?" Gilbert asked, gripping the reins tighter. The horse whined and took a step back in spite of Gilbert. It feared the thing in front of it.

"Keep going and you will know," the man replied. Gilbert had to keep from sighing. Spirits were never direct. "But I assure you, half-breed. If you enter the city, you will die."

"Why will I die?" Gilbert asked. It wasn't the first time a spirit had threatened his life and they never made good on their threats.

"I can promise you that this is no threat….it's a promise, Gilbert…"

Gilbert was stunned. He had always been able to block out the spirits from reading his mind. This one had done it with no effort.

The man continued, a smug tone in his voice. "I know everything about you, Gilbert. I know everything about everyone. I am the reason you are all here. It is by my blood that you all exist."

"What do you speak of?" Gilbert demanded. The leather of the reins bit into his palms. "Tell me!"

"They never forgot me…" The man hissed. "But they made sure that their descendants did. But I will make them remember…"

"Why do you warn me?" Gilbert asked. This was very unusual behavior for a vengeful spirit. They usually just wanted to kill everyone that did them wrong. They did not practice discernment.

The man was quiet for a long while and Gilbert was worried that he would disappear. But then he heard the man whisper something so quietly that the seer almost couldn't make it out.

The man began to fade. Their encounter was over. The dark aura dissipated like smoke in the wind, rushing up and away from Gilbert, toward the city.

A plea to remain died on Gilbert's tongue. The man was already gone, leaving only his memory and his final words as evidence that he had ever existed.

"I have no desire to harm my own kind…."

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Chapter 14!

Finally! We got the ball rolling!

Once again, I thank you for waiting this long. Like I said before, LIFE got in the way of completing this story. Updates will return to their regular schedule of ocean a month. Expect the next update sometime in February or the fist week of March.

I tried to make it up to you guys by posting a new story Syrena. I hope you all like it and think of it as a token of my appreciation for being such a great group of readers.

A big thank you to my beta SweetxSnowxDream. Your input is always a huge help!

Please leave a review! They help me write faster!

Happy belated New Year!

EB


	15. Apology to my readers

Hello, my readers!

I know this isn't a real chapter, but I wanted to give you guys a heads up because I felt it was the right thing to do.

Updates to THYS have been unexpectedly halted. So much has happened since I last updated in January. My dearest uncle passed away. My best friend's father died from a sudden heart attack. I almost failed a class but was able to barely make a passing grade (it was biology with a sucky teacher). I recently completed TWO 65 page essays, one is my senior thesis and the other is the write-up from a huge project I did over the summer on top of my regular college class work. Both will be submitted for publication in the next few months. I will be graduating from college in a week and the entire family is coming down.

As you can see, many things have demanded my attention and this story (and my other stories) have been put on hold. I did try to work on them as much as I could but I didn't get very far, at least, not as far as I wanted. The 15th chapter for THYS is just two pages long! I feel really bad for making you all wait. I know it's been hard especially since the KKM fandom has all but died so the few of us who are holding onto this wonderful fandom have it hard enough without investing in abandoned stories.

I'm writing this because I feel that you deserve to know what's going on and why updates are slow. Now that my college career is over and I will be starting a job with NO homework or assignments, I will be able to work on my stories. I have honestly missed writing and I can't wait to get back on track with THYS and my other fics that I want to post soon.

I just wanted to say I'm sorry for the long wait, I understand your frustration. Please don't give up on me. This story has not been abandoned and I will complete it if it kills me!

I can't give you an exact timeline, but just know that I will be writing as much as I can so I can get the new chapter posted asap!

Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. I am truly grateful to you all!

ElisiansBane


	16. Chapter 16 Conspiracy

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 15

Hello, readers!

I am so sorry this has taken so long! So many unexpected things have happened in my life that have put my writing on serious hold. Thank you for your sympathy and support as I get through this difficult time.

With that said, here is the new chapter of THYS. Don't read too fast! Savor the moment!

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 15 – Conspiracy

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"It is truly amazing! It appears he has made a full recovery in less than a few days"

Marko stated with uncharacteristic awe in his voice to the four occupants of the king's room. Conrad, Wolfram and Gwendal all gave a collective sigh of relief and joy when Marko gave the verdict and their king was well on his way to recovering.

Yuuri had awoken that day with rosy cheeks, bright yes, and a calm, though dull, demeanor. His expression remained slightly fatigued and bored when he and Wolfram went to see Marko for a check up. Yuuri had sat down and Marko had used that strange yellow magic they had seen the first time they had met the surly doctor and jumped when the doctor suddenly yanked his hands back from Yuuri's chest and stared at the king in complete shock.

"This is the first time I have ever seen such a thing," Marko said, clearly marveling at his charge. Yuuri shifted languidly in his spot next to Wolfram, barely acknowledging the people around him. He only continued to stare at the same point far past the people, walls and castle far beyond anyone's own perception.

Wolfram, Gwendal, Conrad and Gunter were all present and all visibly relaxed at the news. They were filled with joy, but they were too exhausted emotionally and mentally to really express their relief and happiness and this new prognosis. There was a grim acceptance at this new change in Yuuri's condition. In their minds – particularly in the minds of Gwendal and Conrad – they could begin the rebuilding process and fix their ailing kingdom at last.

Wolfram reached out to grab Yuuri's hand to squeeze it affectionately, only to have the king coldly pull his hand away to fold it into his lap. Wolfram tried not to show his own disappointment. He shouldn't have expected any different. But last night had made him think that maybe Yuuri would welcome his comforting touch. Mayhap, he shouldn't have done it in public, but the urge to comfort his fiancé was too great and he simply had to touch him.

Wolfram sighed and pulled his hand away. He should have known better. Instead, he distracted himself by listening to Marko babble on about some new discovery and having to "study" and mumbling about "research."

Wolfram didn't like that. He didn't like that Yuuri was reduced to some experiment. Yuuri was still his closest friend and his true love. He could be nothing less than that, certainly not someone's test subject.

Wolfram didn't like that in his absence, Yuuri's treatment was little different from the way people treated a wild animal. He cringed and frowned at the stories Conrad had related to him –however brief and obviously edited – of Yuuri having to be drugged or bound because he had grown too violent and unpredictable. He didn't like that Yuuri's door was locked from the outside at all hours and only Conrad was allowed inside to bring him meals or give him his medicine.

What had happened? When had it come to this? Why? Yuuri was their king! He deserved to be treated with more dignity than this! He was disappointed and confused with his older brothers and even a little angry. Yuuri had been denied the comfort and affection he needed to give him the emotional strength to endure this madness that had befallen him.

The only one who had appeared to show any sort of pity for Yuuri was Alphonse….

Alphonse.

Wolfram bit back the surge of jealousy that bubbled up when he thought of his lieutenant. Conrad had skirted around that subject too. Alphonse had indeed followed Wolfram's instructions to watch over Yuuri in his absence. The painfully jealous prince still trusted his old classmate enough to not try anything while he was gone. But now, he wasn't so sure. Alphonse had apparently gone beyond the call of duty and created several incidents of unrest for his elder brothers and inserted himself into Yuuri's private life. Wolfram wasn't sure of how and when Alphonse had become so close with the king or why his brothers had so easily allowed it…

Wait. He knew the reason. Conrad – and even Yuuri – had told him. Alphonse was the only one who could clam Yuuri's nightmares and bring him comfort with his music.

'I can play the violin!' Wolfram inwardly pouted. 'Yuuri never asked me to play for him!'

Wolfram felt so guilty that he had gone to visit his uncle when Yuuri was ill….

Wolfram frowned. His uncle. Waltorana was notably absent since he had arrived with his nephew only a couple of days prior. Waltorana had sequestered himself into Gwendal's office and the two men had spoken at length but were behooved not to inform Wolfram of what had transpired. This made Wolfram all the more frustrated and suspicious of what his uncle was doing here.

For many years, Waltorana had been the unofficial spokesperson for the Ten Aristocrats. Bielefeld's power, influence, and prestige made it the obvious choice for directly confronting and questioning the monarchy. It was Waltorana who led the particularly vicious verbal and internal attacks against Lady Cheri's reign as Demon Queen before Yuuri's reign and it was Waltorana who made it his personal mission to criticize and scrutinize the new half-breed king's every move should it ever be detrimental in the slightest to the good of the aristocracy.

Wolfram knew and feared, that should it ever occur, his uncle was more than capable of starting a coup and overthrowing Yuuri.

Wolfram's mind drifted back to the little package of herbs, tucked somewhere in his belongings, that Waltorana instructed him to give to Yuuri should he ever "stray."

So Waltorana's absence made Wolfram all the more antsy as he sat next to his fiancé listening to Marko babble on and on.

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Gwendal regarded the other man sitting across from him. There were a lot of things Gwendal would rather be doing – finding a solution to their king's disease, for that all they could really call it. Their king had a disease that was contagious as it tore through their sanity and threatened everything important to them. But no, Gwendal was instead privy to entertaining the last person on the planet he wanted to see in said person's private quarters; his little brother's uncle.

It wasn't that Gwendal disliked Waltorana. There were many occasions when they agreed on one issue or other and Waltorana proved to be a useful and powerful ally when it came to politics and warfare. Waltorana had a will and a presence that could move mountains and proved time and time again to be very effective when dealing with overindulged aristocrats and unruly humans.

But woe to those who stood on the opposite end of the spectrum to Waltorana. The same willpower and intimidation that aided Gwendal on numerous occasions was also a bane when Waltorana and he failed to see eye to eye. Especially when it came to matters of running the kingdom and their young king. Particularly, their young king.

"What exactly is ailing the king?" Waltorana asked at length after an awkward silence.

"It's a transformation. His body is changing into something that is a fusion of his demon and human heritage," Gwendal answered smoothly. He had had to explain the condition over and over again and had heard it repeated to him ad nausea that he could recite a brief explanation without even thinking about it.

"His condition is severe," Gwendal continued after drinking from his tea. "But he is stable and we are doing everything we can to help him through this."

"How long will he be like this?" Waltorana asked.

"It is uncertain, his is a rare case. It can take up to a few weeks or even months…."

"Is it contagious?"

Gwendal blinked. Contagious? "No, it only affects half-bloods…why would you ask-"

"It's affecting Wolfram," Waltorana said quietly, staring down at his abandoned tea cup.

Gwendal felt a chill. "What?"

Waltorana looked up at him, his demeanor spoke of accusation and anger.

Waltorana glared accusingly at Gwendal. "Whatever is affecting the king is affecting my nephew. He has slept little since he came to my doorstep. He yells at things that aren't there and he claims that Yuuri has appeared to him."

Gwendal immediately felt his stomach sink. He hated to believe that Yuuri's condition would do something to his precious little brother. But he never thought it was affect the young demon prince that much.

"No…" he said slowly, though there was doubt in his eyes. "No, it's not. It's something that comes from within Yuuri's powers. It shouldn't affect anyone around him."

"It has," Waltorana said with finality. "It has chipped away at my nephew's sanity. I am worried for him, not just as his lord, but also as his uncle. I refuse to stand by idle if my heir is in any danger. Due to the weakness of half-breeds."

Gwendal bristled. "King Yuuri is not weak."

"He isn't" Waltorana conceded, too quickly to be sincere. "But in comparison to a full blood, he is at a disadvantage. He has immense power, but he cannot control it. That is dangerous. He lacks discipline."

"He is young," Gwendal said in defense.

"That is no excuse. He is the king," Waltorana replied, sipping much too calmly from his teacup. "His actions are that of a youth, but they still have a lasting impact. In his current situation, Yuuri's ability to rule as been compromised even more. If he is incapable of ruling, then his right to the throne is forfeit."

"You speak of treason…" Gwendal hissed.

"I speak the truth," Waltorana said, returning Gwendal's burning gaze without a flinch. "Wolfram has been having hallucinations, visions, nightmares, and convulsions. And they all are connected to the king. Wolfram said that Yuuri "speaks" to him and so I have a hunch that whatever is affecting King Yuuri is affecting Wolfram in a similar fashion."

"Wolfram is very close to the king," Gwendal said. "And he has been a very empathetic person. The stresses of the upcoming wedding, and the king's poor health have been a strain on him. Wolfram is not in any danger. He is your nephew and he is also my youngest brother. I would not allow any harm come to him."

"Gwendal von Voltaire," Waltorana leaned over to scrutinize Gwendal. "What has been described to me is a young man driven insane by his own magic due to his inferior breeding. And a madman with the king's power is too dangerous to be trusted with the wellbeing of this kingdom. His crazed magic is tormenting my nephew and I will not stand by and allow you to let this continue until it has incapacitated my only heir!"

"His Majesty is not mad," Gwendal said with finality. "He is fully recovered as claimed by his doctor. There will be no more of these unexplainable incidents."

"Let us hope not," Waltorana said dryly. "Lest the Aristocracy be forced to take action."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse shifted uncomfortably outside Voltaire's office. He had been waiting there for over half an hour after the guards had tersely told him that the general was in a meeting elsewhere with the king, and Dr. Marko.

The vision from the other night had haunted Alphonse in his every waking moment. Everywhere he walked he could have sworn he saw the apparition of the king or Niklas just in his periphery but when he turned toward the ghost he would see nothing. The words fro that night echoed through his mind whenever eh found himself in a quiet place.

'_It's not me!'_

Alphonse could only hazard a guess at what that meant. He thought he should try to take it at face value, but what did the vision really mean? The king was not the king?

A part of Alphonse desperately wanted to see the king, just to see if he could determine any kind of intrusion or abnormality in the king that might shed light on the cryptic message the vision had given him

But another part of Alphonse, the part of him that was guilty, made him stay away from his friend. He could still feel Yuuri's lips, so soft and pliant. If Yuuri hadn't stopped the kiss, Alphonse was sure he would have deepened the touch and pulled the young monarch just a little closer.

The guilt was even greater when Alphonse watched Yuuri and Lord Bielefeld form the shadows. He hadn't seen much of either of them, but he would catch glimpses of the two walking the halls to whatever appointment they had and he was reminded that King Yuuri was affianced and he had committed a grave act of treason.

Harsh footsteps announced the arrival of Lord Voltaire. Alphonse straightened his posture and gulped in anticipation. He had rehearsed what he was going to say to Voltaire, but everything he had practiced went out the nearest window when the looked upon the stern face of the Chief of State.

On any other day, Voltaire was always an intimidating figure. However, he was particularly frightening when Alphonse thought about what he wanted to say.

'Lord Voltaire, I have good reason to believe that his Majesty is being tormented by vicious spirits and we need to find that other possibly insane Verschmelzung to help him.'

Yeah…that didn't sound entirely right.

Voltaire didn't seem to notice Alphonse standing directly across from his office door as he shoved his hand into his coat pocket to fish out his keys. Alphonse watched Voltaire unlock and open the huge door and start to enter.

"Excuse me…your Excellency?" Alphonse started out with just a slight tinge of nervousness.

Voltaire slowly turned around, finally noticing Alphonse. His face was drawn, and grim – more so than usual. He looked like he had not had much sleep and that prospect didn't surprise Alphonse in the least.

"Yes, Weber?" Voltaire said wearily.

"I would like to request a moment with you," Alphonse said. "There is an important matter that I must discuss with you."

Voltaire stared at Alphonse for a moment. "I'm very busy Alphonse…."

"It will only take a few minutes," Alphonse jumped in. "It concerns his Majesty."

This seemed to get Voltaire's full attention. "Really?" he said dryly. But the attention was short lived as Voltaire turned and walked into his office.

Not taking it for the half-dismissal that it was, Alphonse quickly followed the general into the large office.

Voltaire regarded Alphonse with barely hidden annoyance as he eased himself behind his desk. Alphonse stood his ground and waited for Voltaire to make the first move.

"You have made it your personal mission to concern his Majesty," Voltaire said at length after a pause.

"I am a soldier sworn to protect and serve his Majesty at any cost," Alphonse responded calmly.

"Yes, as are all soldiers," Voltaire said. "But you have gone above and beyond the call of duty. Far past the point of a soldier merely serving his king…to the point of being inappropriate."

"I don't think I understand, my Lord," Alphonse said nervously, though he knew exactly what the general meant.

"You have become personally invested in the king's condition – in the absence of Lord Bielefeld I should mention - and you have taken matters into your own hands that you had no business of taking."

Alphonse said nothing, he merely continued to steadily return Voltaire's disapproving gaze.

Voltaire leaned forward, propped up on his folded hands and stared levelly at Alphonse, pinning the younger man with his steely grey eyes and pinched frown.

"Why are you here, Alphonse von Weber?"

The question was spoken quietly and slowly, each word deliberately chosen to throw Alphonse off. The effect was a success. Alphonse was unnerved by the question because it had so many different possibilities.

"What do you mean, your Excellency?" Alphonse asked anyway.

"I have ears and eyes all over this castle, Weber," Voltaire replied. "You think you're midnight visitors to the royal bedchamber and confrontations with Marko would go unnoticed? My brother's blunt, confrontational style shows in his training with you."

Voltaire leaned back into his chair with a sigh. "When his Majesty suffered a fit in the hallway in front of the portraits of Shinou and the Sage, you were there. Whenever his Majesty has wandered from his chambers, you were always there. Conrad has told me that you visit the king late in the evening and play music for him, and Lord Weller hasn't said anything because it seems to be the only thing that brings the king peace."

Voltaire paused for a moment and then continued. "And to top it off, Marko came to me a few days ago to say that you had visited him in his private chambers and made some very hostile remarks about his motivations regarding his treatment of the king."

"Marko is a good scientist, I will give him that," Alphonse said firmly. He wanted to be clear on this. "But he knows nothing of treating the sick."

"He's the only one who knows how to help the king," Voltaire reminded him. "He did explain to me the history you two share."

Alphonse's blood ran cold and his heart rate sped up. Several emotions coursed through his body as he anticipated Voltaire's next words.

"You are letting your personal feelings get in the way of your duties Alphonse and in the way of helping the king," Voltaire said sternly.

"I made a lot of mistakes," Alphonse said, voice quivering ever-so-slightly as he forced back the wave of grief. "Under the guidance of faulty information and it cost me dearly."

"I know…." Voltaire said quietly, and for the first time, Alphonse swore he could detect just a little sympathy behind the hard gaze.

"I don't want to see someone else make those same mistakes," Alphonse whispered, the lump in his throat blocked him from speaking any louder than that. "I'm doing what I feel is right to help the king."

"But you are doing so in such a way that is detrimental to your integrity as a soldier and to propriety as a servant of the king. If you had concerns you should have brought them to me and Lord Weller before you made any move."

"If you are going t punish me, then so be it," Alphonse said resolutely. "But I have no regrets. I did what I thought was best."

"I should punish you," Voltaire said. "I have every right to punish you and under any other circumstances, I would not hesitate to have you suspended and possibly terminated."

Alphonse stared down at his feet, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"However," Voltaire continued. "It can't be denied that your companionship to his Majesty has brought him the peace that has eluded him for many weeks. For that, I am grateful. But now that Lord Bielefeld ahs returned from his trip, I feel it appropriate to have you remove yourself from his Majesty's personal affairs and return to your duties as lieutenant."

Alphonse felt his heart drop into his stomach. Granted, he should have seen this coming, but it didn't soften the coming blow any less.

"But, your Excellency….I didn't intend to do anything wrong! I only meant to help the king and you just said that I brought him peace!" Alphonse protested vehemently, though the argument was weak.

"Whatever your intentions may have been it doesn't excuse your complete disregard for protocol and the rules that all military personnel must adhere to regarding the safety of the king and the kingdom." Voltaire's tone was firm and unmoving, though not unkind. "You will return to your regular duties and no longer concern yourself with the king."

"What if the king asks for me?" Alphonse said sadly.

"He won't," the answer was quick and final.

Alphonse didn't want to admit that Voltaire's comment hurt him. He had come to see the king as more than just his master and sovereign. He meant more to him than that.

"There is still something I must tell you!" Alphonse implored. "It is in regards to his Majesty's health!"

"I can assure you, Alphonse, his Majesty's health is on the mend," Voltaire replied.

Alphonse paused. "What do you mean?"

"His Majesty's health was made a turn for the better," Voltaire explained. "Marko has declared him on the road to recovery. He has survived the worst and is on his way to returning back to his previous health."

That didn't seem right to Alphonse. Not after the vision he had. It was too soon, too good…

"Did Marko tell you of any other cases like his Majesty?" Alphonse pressed. He wasn't going to let this go. "Any others who might have gone through something like this?"

"That doesn't concern you," Any semblance of understanding and empathy disappeared with that one sentence. Voltaire rose from his seat and walked past Alphonse to open the door to his office.

"You are excused, Alphonse,"

But he wasn't giving in that easily.

"Your Excellency, with all due respect, I don't think this is the end. You must seek out the other Verschmelzung. There is something wrong here and it's more than just an illness. You have to listen to me-"

"That is enough, Alphonse," Voltaire was stern and quiet, but he might as well have yelled at Alphonse for the way the soldier flinched at the icy words.

Voltaire opened the door wider. Alphonse's welcome was clearly worn out. "Go back to your duties, Alphonse. His Majesty is recovering and in good hands. You need not concern yourself any longer."

For just a second, Alphonse considered standing where he was until Voltaire paid him heed. But his feet began to move, reacting to years of subordination and protocol and reluctantly led him out of the large office and into the abandoned hallway.

Alphonse felt the force of the door slam behind him, pushing him a little further into the hallway. His effort was thoroughly thwarted. He wanted to turn around and demand Voltaire listen to him, but a part of him knew it was futile.

Alphonse was suddenly filled with a wave of doubt. Maybe he _was_ getting too involved. Mayhap, he was making a fuss over something that was indeed resolved. There was a chance that the king was recovered and the visions, nightmares and apparitions in his bedroom corner were merely the visual manifestations of his buried guilt and yearning for Niklas.

It could be that his own inability to save Niklas from his terrible fate was driving him to break protocol and see and feel things that weren't there. In his mind, there was no closure to the incidents that led to Niklas's death and Yuuri was, in a sense, a chance at redemption for his own ignorance. He saw so much of Niklas in the king, so much that he wondered why he didn't notice it before.

He didn't want to see anyone go through that kind of pain. Not again.

No, he would get to someone. Tell someone what he saw and find the other Verschmelzung. Even if it meant going against his superiors and losing everything he had fought for.

He could try to reach out the Lord Bielefeld. They had been friends and comrades for years. Surely, he would listen to him.

This new approach in mind, Alphonse hurried down the hallway. He left just as Lord Christ was approaching from the opposite end and let himself into Voltaire's office.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come in…" Voltaire said tiredly. He had just finished dealing with the increasingly insubordinate soldier from his brother's squadron and was not in the mood for another interruption.

Gunter let himself in, not at all concerned by the dangerously edgy tone in Gwendal's voice.

Gunter looked wan and pale. More so than last time. It felt like weeks since Gwendal had last seen the advisor. Gunter had taken to holing himself up, pouring over old books and manuscripts, searching for any information on Yuuri's condition.

"What brings you here, Gunter?" Gwendal said tiredly.

Gunter managed to give the general a small smile. Gunter was like Conrad in that he could summon even the tiniest of smiles even under great duress. He produced an inch-thick stack of yellowed papers from his coat and gently placed them before Gwendal on his desk. Gwendal made no move to take up the papers, but instead waited for Gunter to explain their significance.

"Good afternoon, Gwendal," Gunter said amiably. "I take it you are as glad of the news concerning our wonderful king as I am."

"Yes," Gwendal said with relief. "This kingdom has been brought to its knees. I have the Aristocrats constantly inquiring to the king's silence and now I have Waltorana meddling about. Maybe finally, Yuuri can return to normal and stabilize the kingdom."

"What are we looking at?" Gunter asked, brows furrowed in concern as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Crop failure, flooding, civil unrest, most likely famine. We might have to ask our allies for aid, which would be a terrible blow to the dignity of the Demon Kingdom," Gwendal explained monotonously. "The constant rain and storms have brutalized our country. The nobles and the people want answers as to why their king has remained silent. I'm afraid that Waltorana may be suspicious of us and he might have caught on to our situation. We can't remain silent forever."

"His Majesty maybe a great king," Gunter added. "But the nobility still suspect him. If word got out that he had some disease that drove him insane. Then they might try to overthrow him."

"And they would itch for a reason to usurp him," Gwendal said. "He will always be a half-breed in their eyes. Any fault they find is enough to question his authority. This change is more than enough to incite their rebellion. The stability of Yuuri's rule is at risk."

Gunter pursed his lips and nodded sadly. He had watched Yuuri grow from a sweet, but awkward young teenager into a hardworking monarch. Despite all the things that counted against him – his youth, naivety, inexperience – Yuuri had worked to overcome them and grow into his role and responsibilities. Yuuri was constantly meeting the tests and challenges presented to him not just by the daily trials of ruling, but of the various tests that the nobility gave him. Yuuri never had a moment where he had truly proven himself worthy to the Aristocrats of being their ruler. In spite of Shinou's anointing of Yuuri as his successor, despite Yuuri's defeat of the Originator, despite the longest years of peace their country had ever known, Yuuri still wasn't good enough by fault of his lineage.

And this change and the symptoms and suffering it brought were only fuel to the fire.

"Yuuri will be better now," Gunter said assuring, as much it himself as to Gwendal. "Everything will return to normal."

"That is the hope," Gwendal sighed. He then turned his attention to the pile of papers resting on his desk. "What have you there?"

Gunter sat up and spread the papers into a neat fan. "Well, you know I've been researching his Majesty's condition for some time. So far, my efforts have been fruitless as I can find no other documentation, other than the little that Marko has published, that even hints at this condition."

Gunter's hand hovered over the letters for a moment before choosing one and handing it to Gwendal. "But I came across several interesting letters that mention a similar condition in an unknown individual."

"Unknown individual?" Gwendal said with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, not really unknown," Gunter amended. "What you have before you are copies of letters written towards the end of the fourteenth demon king' reign. You remember when I mentioned him?"

Gwendal nodded. Gunter continued.

"Most of these letters, if not all of them, make some reference to that same book that King Alois wanted published, but it was refuted by the nobility because of its controversial nature. I believe I may have an idea as to what the controversy might have been."

Gunter picked up another letter. "The letter you have was written by King Alois's chief Advisor to Benjamin von Christ. The letter I have is the response to that."

Gwendal scanned the contents of the letter. " 'To his Lordship Benjamin von Christ. The historical volume in question does not meet the standards and requirements of our kingdom's great history. They are completely based on the folktales and legends of a dead race and are not of the caliber required for inclusion in the royal history. There was no Elberich, Lady Rufus von Bielefeld was not romantically involved with anyone previous to her marriage with the Great One, much less this "Elberich" person whose name exists only in campfire stories. And it is best it be kept that way rather than confuse the impressionable public about some madman."

"Interesting," Gwendal muttered. "What exactly is he speaking of?"

"That's just the thing," Gunter said. "I'm not entirely sure. I have not found a copy or any kind of excerpt, manuscripts or summary of this book they're speaking of. Their efforts to erase this controversial history were obviously successful as there are no more mentions of this issue after Alois's death ten years later."

Gunter handed the other letter to Gwendal. "From what I can tell, there was a man named Elberich who existed around the time of Shinou's reign and maybe before that, who started some kind of uprising among the half-breeds and humans against the Demon tribes."

"Half-breeds and humans?"

"Yes!" Gunter said excitedly. "He managed to unite a group of humans and half-breeds who were allegedly enslaved by the demon tribe. It is implied that he was a member of the demon tribe before the uprising which makes it even more interesting that a demon would side with the humans and half-breeds during that time."

"But there is no evidence of slavery in the Demon Kingdom," Gwendal said, confused.

"Well," Gunter explained. "We have evidence that many parts of Shin Makoku's early history was heavily edited." Gunter then pointed to a passage in the second letter. "Read here."

Gwendal read the paragraph under Gunter's pointed finger. " ' How can you ignore such a huge part of the founding of our kingdom? How can you erase from existence an entire nation of people? Elberich's role in the founding of the Great Demon Kingdom is so integral to the survival of our race that the nobility cannot simply ignore the impact he had in our nation. Aloysius's defeat of Elberich was the turning tide of the battle."

"I know even less of this Aloysius person," Gunter explained. "That letter was written by King Alois. I found another letter written a few months later asking Lord Benjamin von Christ to exclude an event known as the Massacre at Chicane or to have it censored. The rest of the letters before you are the back and forth correspondence between King Alois, his advisor and Lord Benjamin von Christ spanning over four months. They all make reference to this book and to these two men named Elberich and Aloysius. But I have found no other mentions by other authors of any people by that name."

"An historical cover-up," Gwendal stated.

"Exactly," Gunter nodded.

"What does this have to do with King Yuuri?" Gwendal asked. The letters Gunter presented to him were very fascinating, there was no doubt, but they had little to do with the plight of King Yuuri.

"Look at this letter," Gunter handed a third letter to Gwendal and pointed to a specific sentence among the ancient script. Gwendal quickly translated the Old Tongue in his mind and his eyes widened in surprise.

" 'Elberich, Powerful Hero of the Half-breed Nation and the Rightful King of Shin Makoku…."

"The historian who wrote this was burned for heresy…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse walked dejectedly between the many rows of swampy flowerbeds in the garden. The rain had finally taken respite and the clouds hung over the palace courtyard.

Voltaire's words replayed over and over again in his mind. Alphonse should have known that his constant companionship to the king in Bielefeld's absence would bring about nasty rumors. He just forgot to think of them in his haste and worry.

What if Bielefeld heard the rumors? Surely, he would have heard something. The soldiers would have told him that Alphonse spent more time at the king's side than at the training grounds with them like he was supposed to. Alphonse had neglected his duties with the fire brigade so much so that they probably stopped expecting him to show up every morning.

Sometimes Alphonse did and sometimes he didn't. It depended on what the king was doing or not doing. His duties as lieutenant dwindled in importance as he delved further and further into the mystery that was King Yuuri and his illness.

An illness that Alphonse wasn't so sure was an illness at all. It didn't behave like an illness. Illnesses didn't infect the souls of every living being within the palace walls and beyond in such a way. Illnesses didn't come about on the heels of apocalyptic rain and darkness. Illnesses didn't cause hallucinations in people other than the person who was actually infected.

'What are you trying to tell me, Nikki? What should I do?' Alphonse thought wearily as he wandered aimlessly among the ornamental trees.

Alphonse stopped at the sound of footsteps up ahead. He had come to the other side of the gardens, completely lost in his thoughts. He didn't realize the nearly half-hour walk from one side to the next was at an end. He could see the open passageway that lined the courtyard and upon it walked Wolfram von Bielefeld, strangely alone, staring straight ahead into the distance, clearly in a hurry from the rapid clicking of his boots.

Alphonse opened his mouth to call out to him, but no sound came out. His fear of the jealous wrath of Bielefeld made him hesitate. His lips and jaw moved soundlessly as his mind contemplated what he should do.

His attempt at warning Voltaire had ended badly. He had been met with dismissal. It wouldn't be surprising to be met with the same thing by Voltaire's youngest brother. However, Alphonse felt that he and Wolfram had a relationship that went beyond just Captain and Lieutenant. He thought of Wolfram as a good friend from their days as military students, sharing classes and teachers together for four years. Perhaps, Wolfram would listen to him…just a little.

"Captain!" Alphonse called out.

Wolfram came to a stop and looked around in confusion before finding Alphonse standing just beyond the walkway emerging from the ornamental trees.

The small smile on Alphonse's face died quickly when it was returned and instead met by a blank hostility that Alphonse wasn't used to having directed at him.

"Alphonse," Wolfram greeted in a way that reminded him way too much of Voltaire.

Not sure how he should approach this, Alphonse simply greeted him. "How are you?"

Wolfram gave him a look that said 'seriously?' but the prince replied evenly. "I am fine…very busy."

"I understand," Alphonse said amiably. "How is the-"

"I checked in with the fire wielders today," Wolfram interrupted him, a look of disproval on his face. "They informed me that you have been noticeably absent from training sessions as of late and they were at a loss as to what to do without you there."

"Oh…I'm sorry…" Alphonse said meekly. "I've been preoccupied lately-"

"With what, might I ask?" Wolfram's voice took on a hard edge. "I placed you in charge of overlooking their training. They are rookies, Alphonse. They need to be trained. That's why I left them to you and took the experienced soldiers with me to Bielefeld."

"As my lieutenant, I expect you to carry on the duties that I would in my absence," Wolfram said sternly. "I don't put your in charge to run around and neglect your duties. I expect more from you, Alphonse."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Alphonse said and he truly was sorry. "I was…I was preoccupied…"

"With my fiancé?" Wolfram's green eyes took on a dangerously sharp spark. Wolfram's tone held a thinly veiled threat.

"It's….It's not like that, your Excellency," Alphonse said adopting a tone and language of utmost respect and humility. "I only wished to look after him, like you asked me to. I would never-"

"When I said look after him, I did not mean that you spend time in his private rooms, take an inappropriate interest in his affairs and generally insert yourself into every facet of his life," Wolfram said in a low hiss, eye flashing angrily at the soldier.

"I…I…" Alphonse was at a loss. He had dug a grave for himself through his actions and he wasn't sure he could get himself out. "I was trying to help him, your Excellency...I only acted out of concern."

"Is that so?" Wolfram sneered. "I just spent the entire morning dealing with a bunch of confused and irritated rookies, there's a pile of paperwork that you haven't completed so some of the soldiers didn't get paid this month, and my brothers have informed me that you've been spending an inappropriate amount of time in the king's private bedrooms late at night! What do you have to say to that, Weber?"

"I am a soldier, my duty is to the king," Alphonse said empathically. "I couldn't stand by and watch him suffer when there was something I could do to help him!"

"There are other things I would have rather done this morning than clean up the mess you left behind!" Wolfram snapped. "Like spend time with my fiancé and see to his recovery. Instead I had to reorganize everything that was your responsibility! When I left you in charge, Alphonse, I did so with the assumption that as my lieutenant you would take over my duties! I told you to keep an eye out on the king but not at the cost of your competence!"

"But, your Excellency-"

"Save it, Alphonse!" Wolfram hissed, cutting Alphonse off with a sharp wave. "I really don't care why you've completely failed in your duties. You are placed in military leave until I can figure out what to do with you!"

Alphonse stepped back in shock. "You-you can't mean that! Wolfram, we've been friends since the academy! I never meant to do anything to be detrimental. I was trying to save the king! This disease…it's… it's not what you think it is! Something is after the king and it's trying to trick all of us!"

"Really, Alphonse?" Wolfram said with a groan. "This is your excuse?"

"I know it doesn't make sense," Alphonse said in exasperation. "I know I sound like I'm going mad, but you have to listen to me! You can't tell me you don't sense it!"

"Sense what, Alphonse?" Wolfram said angrily. "That you and apparently everyone else in this damned castle are insane?"

"Have you been watching the king?" Alphonse asked. "Has he been acting strange? Is there a coldness in his eyes? Is he acting at all like the man you love?"

Wolfram froze and then abruptly looked away from Alphonse. His fists were clenched painfully tight at his sides, his entire body as tense and defensive and Alphonse knew he had hit something.

"This is more than a disease, Bielefeld! You have to have sensed that! This isn't like the king at all!"

"And how would you know that?" Wolfram snarled lowly.

"Because," Alphonse replied. "We've all come to know the King Yuuri. We all know that he is kind, and gentle, and good. You don't need to be in his inner circle to see that. Surely, you've seen a change in him and you know that's not how he truly is!"

"What am I supposed to do then?" Wolfram said in frustration. "Yuuri is recovering. He is finally getting better! They told me in the beginning that this change would alter Yuuri. That he may not be the same person he was before. That in itself is hard enough to deal with and now you're telling me that this isn't Yuuri anymore? I can't deal with that! Not now!"

"Not like this!" Alphonse said, desperate to get Wolfram – someone – to understand what he could not. "You have to look harder! Watch Yuuri when you're with him next time and see if this is simply a change in his physicality or something deeper than that."

Wolfram was silent, his mouth was pressed into a thing line. Alphonse could see the warring emotions behind those glassy eyes. Alphonse understood. When he was in Wolfram's position, he had trouble listening to the truth too, because it went against logic and convention. It went against everything he had ever been taught to believe and it cost him everything.

"Don't make the same mistake that I did, Bielefeld," Alphonse whispered brokenly. "Don't let your ignorance cost you the love of your life."

"Why are you doing this, Alphonse?" Wolfram whispered back just as broken and exhausted. "I've never seen you behave this way…not once."

Alphonse swallowed hard. It was the one question he had dreaded answering for the pain he had suffered years ago was still fresh and festering in his soul. But if it meant getting Wolfram to understand then he would open that wound and expose his sin to save Yuuri's life.

"Do you remember Niklas von Dietrich?" Alphonse asked slowly, staring straight into Wolfram's eyes.

Wolfram was quiet for a long time. "I remember Niklas, Alphonse."

"Do you remember how he died?"

"Alphonse…."

"They said it was suicide!" Alphonse choked out. "They said he killed himself because he went mad from the change! He went through the same thing that King Yuuri is going through and it killed him!"

"But it was more than that," Alphonse continued when he was sure he had Wolfram's full attention. "I know that now. I wish I had known it then before I lost him. I didn't listen to him and I wasn't able to save him. My ignorance killed Niklas!"

"Alphonse," All animosity had left Wolfram to be replaced by pity and grief for his friend. "That's wasn't your fault…Niklas was sick, yes, but it doesn't mean anything more than that."

"Yes, it does!" Alphonse cried out. "You don't know what went on behind closed doors! What Marko and his students did to Niklas. _What I let them do_! I…I helped them chain Niklas to the bed! To stop him from hurting himself! But it was really something else that was torturing him! And we made him even more vulnerable to that evil! I chained him! I chained him like a wild animal to the bed so he couldn't move and the next day he still had scratches all over his body!"

Wolfram was visibly grimacing and slowly backing away from Alphonse, sympathy and distress on his face. "Alphonse, this isn't-"

But Alphonse wasn't going to let him go. "That night he died. He had gotten out of his bonds. I tried to stop him! I followed up to the tower. He was standing on the rail like he was ready to end his life and I tried to talk him out of it."

Memories, feelings, pain, suffering, guilt, torrential images flittered across his mind. Alphonse wasn't talking to Wolfram anymore he was reliving that fateful night ten years ago. It was still so clear, he could envision Niklas on the rail, his nightgown whipping about his slender frame, flashes of barely healed cuts along his legs and arms, Niklas' look of desperation and anger at Alphonse's betrayal.

"I reached out to him," Alphonse whispered, his hand unconsciously reaching out to Niklas's memory as if he could stop the moment from repeating itself. "I told him that we only wanted to help him…"

'_You can't help me! They can't help me. They've only made things worse!'_

"I said those medicines hurt, but that they would make him better…they didn't…"

'_No they won't! They never do! Because I'm not sick! Why won't you believe me?'_

"I didn't believe him…even then…when he was near death, I still didn't believe him…I-I thought it was just the drugs making him act strange…I was so stupid!"

'_I'm not sick!'_

"I told him I loved him," Alphonse whispered, tears welled up in his eyes and made it hard to see the memories. "After the terrible things I had done, I told him I loved him because I wanted him to come down."

'_You…do?'_

"I reached out to him," Alphonse's voice was a broken whimper. "He was so close. He was coming back to me…I had him! Then…then he fell!"

Alphonse would never forget that moment. When his beautiful Niklas was ripped from him forever. It all happened in slow motion. He watched the shock, and fear on Niklas face as he fell back over the rail and to his death. Alphonse was forced to watch Niklas die.

"I can still hear the sounds of his bones breaking…I can still see the stains from his blood on the pavement. To this day, I refuse to go anywhere near the north tower because I see the blood where he fell, I can hear him screaming my name and being helpless to do anything! It haunts me everyday!"

The look on Wolfram's face was tense and unreadable. He listened quietly as Alphonse told his tale. Wolfram had been out of the capital during that time. Alphonse had only given minute details of Niklas' condition to his captain because he didn't want the loose lips of the castle populace spreading rumors about Niklas's condition nor did he want word getting to his family, who never approved of his relationship with the other soldier.

"Alphonse…I'm so sorry…"

"Now I know," Alphonse said at last. "Now I know that something was haunting Niklas. It was torturing him and laughing at us as we helped it destroy him like the idiots we were! We did nothing! And Niklas died because of it! I helped that evil thing kill my Niklas! I'm no better than a murderer!"

"You're not a murderer, Alphonse…it was an accident!" Wolfram protested weakly.

"Don't tell me that…" Alphonse shook his head in misery. "Don't tell me that when I know the truth…"

Alphonse grabbed Wolfram by the shoulders, forcing the man to look at him.

"Listen to me, Wolfram von Bielefeld, my captain…my friend. What killed Niklas is after the king! It wants you to not look. It needs your ignorance to succeed! It preys on it and while you turn a blind eye it is slowly killing Yuuri! It will trick you and manipulate you and when you realize it, it will be too late!"

"Don't make that same mistake!" Alphonse cried. "Don't be like me and let the years of guilt and grief eat away at you like it has done to me! I wouldn't wish that pain on my worst enemy!"

Wolfram looked terrified. The realization in his face let Alphonse know that the other man had had the same fears or similar ones. He had reached him and Wolfram could no longer hide behind his blindness.

"Look at Yuuri! Really look at him! Because it might not be him!"

Wolfram's lips moved soundlessly, completely at a loss as to how to handle Alphonse's lapse in sanity. "Alphonse…"

"Wolfram?"

Both men jumped away from each other at the soft voice. They turned to see King Yuuri standing along the walkway dressed in his usual uniform with a blank expression.

"Yuuri," Wolfram was the first to break the heavy silence. "I was just on my way to see you."

"I was waiting for you," Yuuri said with a child-like pout.

"I'm sorry," Wolfram said with a tight smile, though his eyes never left Alphonse's face. "Alphonse and I were just talking military business."

Alphonse nodded dumbly, trying to compose himself.

"Okay," Yuuri said slowly. "Can we go now?"

"Sure, wimp," Wolfram said smoothly. "Here I come."

Alphonse watched in silence as Wolfram joined the king on the walkway. Wolfram wrapped an arm around Yuuri's slim shoulders and gently guided him back into the palace, not sparing another glance at the hapless soldier in the courtyard.

Alphonse could only hope that his words were heeded as the couple disappeared into the darkened castle. He turned slowly and walked back where he came from, back to his quarters to deal with the unburied emotions of ten years ago.

Alphonse missed the quick glance Yuuri cast his way. A glance filled with malice and danger.

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CHAPTER 15!

Oh my GOD, I thought I would never get that thing written! We've reached the third act my readers! All will be revealed in the next chapter. Everything will come to a head and the biggest secret in Shin Makoku's history will be laid bare to all!

Thank you all so much for your support and patience! And for your sweet messages!

I've reached a point in my life where things are normal. My new job starts on Tuesday. I am the proud owner of a 2007 Kia Spectra. I finally have my act together and I can continue writing for your enjoyment. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please stay tuned for the rest of the story!

As always, please review and leave your thoughts. They mean a lot to me and they do make a difference!


	17. Chapter 17 The Twenty-Sixth Day part 1

The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya

Hello, everyone!

Thanks to all of you who reviewed. Your encouragement and comments are always important. I love hearing from all of you!

Warnings: extreme violence. (you're all gonna be really mad at me….)

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 16 – The Devil Inside (The Twenty-Sixth Day)

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Wolfram wandered aimlessly among the labyrinthine halls of the castle. His entire life had been spent running among these halls, so his feet where content to take the lead and allow his troubled mind to ponder.

Alphonse's story replayed over and over again in his mind. Wolfram had always known Alphonse to be levelheaded and calm, he had never seen the man look so distraught and miserable…it was unnerving.

Wolfram didn't know much about Niklas. He just remembered that when Alphonse laid eyes on the young half-breed, he was instantly smitten and did everything he could to win Niklas's favor. Alphonse followed Niklas everywhere until the shy and nearly mute young man had no choice but to pay him head. Theirs was essentially a whirlwind romance, Alphonse and Niklas could barely keep away from each other and were the talk of the academy. Niklas's past was an enigma to Wolfram and the tidbits that Alphonse shared with him on occasion proved that the other soldier knew only marginally more about his paramour than he did. All Wolfram could determine for sure was that Alphonse would do anything for Niklas and vice versa.

Wolfram was away at Bielefeld when the beautiful romance turned tragic when Niklas came down with a mysterious illness. Contact with Alphonse had been very limited during that time, but from what he could tell from the rare letters was that Niklas had caught some disease that made him violent and unstable, leaving Alphonse desperate, angry and confused.

Wolfram finally returned to the palace two weeks after Niklas's death and attended his funeral. There were only a handful of people there. Niklas' family was not in attendance. It was Wolfram, Alphonse, his brothers and a few friends from the academy. The circumstances surrounding Niklas' death were obscured and forbidden within the palace walls.

Niklas' suicide faded into the background and the rest of the castle populace moved on from the tragic event. Even Alphonse, after a three-month absence, returned to his duties as Wolfram's second in command and eventually regained his old laidback nature…though it seemed forced. Wolfram didn't bother to think on it much for he was busy with the new Demon King and his recent engagement.

'Look at him! Really look at him!'

'I'm always looking at Yuuri," Wolfram thought bitterly. 'So much so that I'm surprised I don't run into walls.'

But Alphonse's words kept repeating themselves over and over again in Wolfram's mind. He had never seen Alphonse so distraught and desperate. Not since Niklas' death.

Alphonse's words also held true to the visions and feelings Wolfram had had for the past few weeks. He shuddered at the memory of that terrible nightmare when Yuuri murdered his entire family, claiming that he was "sick." Wolfram could still see the bloodied water and broken bodies of his brothers floating in the shallow red liquid. He remembered the vision in his uncle's dining room…of Yuuri standing so frail and broken pleading with him for aid.

Wolfram's hand drifted up to his throat…he remembered the dream where Yuuri tried to kill him….

Wolfram came to a stop. His instincts had led him to the royal bedchamber. The door was closed and locked to keep out unauthorized personnel from entering the king's bedroom…But really it was to keep any unsuspecting maid or page from entering and incurring a violent outburst from the king.

The Yuuri that Conrad described to him was not the Yuuri Wolfram knew. Yuuri would never attack anyone or scream the foulest curses at those he loved and cared for. It was so unnatural and uncharacteristic of the young king that Wolfram didn't want to believe the truth that was so plainly laid before him.

His hand rested on the brass handle. Wolfram hesitated. Yuuri should be alone inside his room sleeping off the heavy medication that Marko had given him that morning. Wolfram didn't want to disturb Yuuri if he was asleep.

But Wolfram's hand was already turning the handle and the door slowly creaked open to reveal the dim room inside. Wolfram cautiously stepped in, braced for some nonexistent attack as he entered the royal bedchamber.

The room was empty.

Yuuri should have been sleeping on the bed, tucked under the covers the way Wolfram had left him earlier. But the covers lay strewn about and without their previous occupant.

Wolfram stepped further in. The room suddenly became very cold and threatening. The hairs on Wolfram's neck stood on end and his hackles rose. His hand drifted towards the small dagger he kept on his person at all times and silently wished his sword wasn't in the closet. Some thing was very wrong.

He felt like he was being watched – stalked as he searched the room for his fiancé. Keen eyes scanned the room for any evidence of foul play, but found none. The heavy aura grew around him and Wolfram was filled with the urge to flee back into the hallway.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram called out. "Where are you?"

Silence. Wolfram grew even more worried. Where was Yuuri?

Drawn to his right, Wolfram turned to look toward the massive wardrobes and had to bite back a startled yelp.

Yuuri was perched atop the massive wardrobe, crouched like some gargoyle holding a small item in his hands. The king stared down at Wolfram with fathomless eyes through stringy hair.

There was nothing but malice and hatred pouring off of Yuuri's presence and for the first time in his life, Wolfram was afraid of his own fiancé. Wolfram stood frozen and dumb under the cold glare from the king. Yuuri's face was stone cold and blank, but Wolfram could feel the cruelty emanating from him as he perched still as a statue atop the piece of furniture.

Alphonse's warning repeated in Wolfram's ears.

'It might not be him!'

"Yuuri?" Wolfram whimpered, not daring to make any sudden movement. It was like confronting a rabid beast in the wilderness that was ready to kill at the slightest infraction.

Slowly, Yuuri uncurled himself and sinuously climbed down from the wardrobe, his gaze never leaving Wolfram.

Wolframs blood ran cold and he felt trapped. Yuuri stood straight and turned towards Wolfram, inky pupils were even blacker thanks to Yuuri's impossibly white skin.

A movement from Yuuri's side. Wolfram dared to break the gaze and see what the other man was holding. Wolfram nearly gasped when he recognized the little box filled with the "special tea" his uncle had given him to help sway Yuuri's affections toward him. He didn't know he brought it with him. It must have gotten thrown in with his haste.

But that didn't explain why Yuuri had it or why he seemed to be so angry.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said again. "What's wrong?"

Yuuri held out the tea cube to Wolfram. Knuckles turned white as Yuuri's grip tightened around the cube. Little flecks of tealeaves snowed down onto the floor.

When Yuuri finally spoke, it was slow and mocking.

"Did you really think this was going to work?"

Wolfram was speechless. He had no idea how Yuuri could have known what that was.

"I don't understand- "

"Did you really think that some tea could change the way I feel about you?" Yuuri snapped.

Sneering in complete disgust, Yuuri threw the tea cube into the fire that Wolfram hadn't realized was lit. The flames rose and hissed. The room was filled with the scent of burning tea.

Yuuri slowly advanced to Wolfram. The prince took a step back.

Yuuri noticed this and gave a contemptuous snort. "You recoil from me? Your beloved fiancé?"

"Yuuri, it's not what you think," Wolfram tried to explain while every muscle in his body screamed at him to run for it. This wasn't Yuuri.

"You would poison me for your own selfishness?" Yuuri snarled, advancing ever closer to Wolfram who continued to retreat into the bedroom.

"Yuuri, I would never - ," Wolfram's pleas were cut off by a hard force colliding into his jaw. The soldier was flung backwards and fell into a heap on the floor. A shaking hand slowly lifted up to feel the small trail of blood from Wolfram's now split lip.

Wolfram was in complete shock. The metallic taste of his own blood was on his lips when he was finally able to put together words.

"You…..you hit me…" Wolfram said, barely comprehending what had just happened. "You hit me!"

Yuuri said nothing as he watched Wolfram on the floor. With unnatural speed, he pounced on the frightened demon, curling his hands around his neck and pinning him to the ground.

Images of the nightmare at the inn flashed across Wolfram's vision as he tried to throw Yuuri off of him. After all, he was a trained soldier and Yuuri could barely swing a sword. It should have been easy to turn the tides in his favor. He grabbed Yuri's forearms to dislodge him, but his fiancé only grunted and quickly subdued Wolfram. Wolfram could only stare up at the twisted face of his fiancé as unnaturally strong fingers tightened painfully around his neck.

Yuuri smiled cruelly and lifted Wolfram's head by his neck to slam it down repeatedly onto the hard floor.

"You betrayed me!" Yuuri shrieked, emphasizing each word by slamming Wolfram's head into the floor. "I gave you everything and you still left me for my brother! You told them my weaknesses! I trusted you! I trusted you, Rufus!"

Tiny stars flashed before his eyes as Wolfram heard the maniacal rants of the stranger in Yuuri's body over the sounds of the panicked guards outside who were trying to break in the door.

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Conrad urged his legs to run faster.

A guard had found him in Gwendal's office going over different logistics with his brother. The guard was nearly hysterical, stammering about the king attacking Wolfram and that the door was barred by some unseen force.

Conrad didn't have to be told twice, without thinking his body was already pushing past the frightened guard and heading towards the royal bedroom with Gwendal right behind him, both driven by fear for their youngest brother.

As the two men drew nearer, they heard a scream, followed by an animalistic roar, and desperate pleading. When they finally reached the hallway of the royal chambers, the doors were flung open, hanging askew from bent hinges, and there was no one in the hallway.

Conrad and Gwendal drew their swords and slowly crept up to the door. Inside, the room was dark, the storm had renewed its efforts and rain beat against the window, the only sound to be heard.

"Be careful," Gwendal whispered as Conrad made to enter the room.

Conrad nodded and carefully pushed the door aside with a creak.

The air in the room was heavy and freezing. There was a menacing presence all around them, coiled and waiting for their first move, but with the knowledge that they were disadvantaged.

Conrad scanned the room. The fireplace burned a strange reddish green color and filled the room with a spicy, herbal scent that Conrad didn't recognize.

He took a step further into the room and nearly slipped on something wet. Conrad reached down with his hand to feel the thick, sticky substance. The smell hit him before he could touch the pool of blood and his sense immediately heightened.

He tried to push the door in more but was stopped by a large object on the floor. Conrad peered around the doorframe and his blood turned to ice when he saw the mangled corpse of one of the guards.

"Wolfram?" Conrad called out into the room. Trying the fight the growing terror in his gut. He gripped the handle of his sword to the point of being painful as he ventured forth in search of his baby brother.

"Wolfram?" Conrad called out again just as he heard Gwendal's whispered curse as he laid eyes on the dead guard.

This time, he was answered by a weak moan coming from the other side of the giant bed. Conrad rushed to the sound, hoping that they weren't too late.

Conrad dropped his sword when he saw the broken body of his little brother lying in a heap on the floor. Conrad's mind went blank as his fear overcame him at the sight of the little brother he had failed to protect. He fell to his knees beside Wolfram's prone form and carefully gathered him into his arms.

"Wolfram!" Conrad struggled to speak. "Wolfram, wake up!"

Slowly, Wolfram turned his head to reveal his badly bruised face. Bloodshot eyes stared up blankly at Conrad, just barely comprehending who was talking to him.

"Wolfram, what happened?" Conrad asked desperately, fearing the worst.

Wolfram's lips trembled, trying to form words to warn Conrad of the danger he was in. The soldier leaned forward until his ear was almost touching Wolfram's swollen lips.

"…above….you…."

"Conrad!" Gwendal shouted, drawing his sword. "On the ceiling!"

Conrad looked up into the corner of the ceiling. There suspended right above where he left his bait, was the king of Shin Makoku, his beloved godson, limbs bent, clothes smeared with the blood of his victims, nails digging into the wood to hold him up in his crouched position as he smiled grotesquely down at his godfather.

But what affected Conrad the most was that Yuuri's face was contorted beyond recognition into a terrible grin with slanted eyes framed by long, stringy hair.

The creature moved with uncanny speed, leaping down from its perch, tackling Conrad to the ground, sending Wolfram tumbling to the floor. Conrad was assaulted by claws and teeth and struggled to defend himself.

"Yuuri, snap out of it!" Conrad shouted over the creature's howls.

Out of the corner of his vision, Conrad noticed Gwendal quickly pulling Wolfram away from the chaos. More guards joined them and immediately tried to pry Yuuri off of the captain. This only seemed to upset the creature more as his screams drowned out the confused shouts and orders of the other guards who tried to help him.

Conrad tried to grab Yuuri's arms and pin the smaller man to the ground, but it was of no use. Yuuri's strength had increased tenfold and Conrad found himself hanging on to the defensive, all the while torn between utilizing his skills and holding back to protect his king and godson.

"Yuuri, stop!" Conrad said, this time trying to reach the boy with his native Japanese. "Yuuri, it's us! Calm down!"

But Conrad's words didn't reach the king. It was another being inhabiting the young man's body who had no knowledge of the foreign tongue nor did it care.

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"Why hasn't the king done anything?!"

Gilbert overheard the conversation of three women standing underneath the awning of a dingy looking pub.

"We're all going to starve this winter!" said the first woman, holding a basket of sub-par looking fruit. "The rains have drowned the fields! We'll be lucky if we can salvage a fourth of what we planted."

"My cousin has a friend who works in the palace," said the second woman, an elderly female with long grey hair. "She says that the king has fallen ill with a terrible disease that makes one go mad! She says that the friend actually saw him attack one of the guards like some wild creature!"

"How horrible!" said the third one, a petite lady holding a broom.

"Well, he'd better recover soon!" said the first one. "I've got a nephew in the military and eh says that Dai Cimarron is planning to attack us while we're weak!"

"I certainly hope that never happens," the second one said with worry.

"It will," said the first one grimly. "If the king doesn't recover and help us!"

The conversation faded into the background as Gilbert moved further away from the women, heading always toward the palace that lorded over the capital city.

Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks unaware of the indignant glares he received from the people meandering behind him. Through the steadily falling rain, he fixed himself upon the looming silhouette of Blood Pledge Castle.

The spirit had made its move. The dark power had shifted and concentrated itself into a single point within the palace walls. It had fully regained its consciousness, was self-aware and was initiating its final plans to destroy everything from inside.

"I'm out of time,' Gilbert thought exigently, picking up his pace once again on a straight path towards the castle. The muddy streets and downtrodden crowds did little to hinder him. His rain-soaked cloak swished back and forth at his feet as he neared the end of his journey.

Gilbert had no idea what awaited him inside the palace gates. He only knew that it was the strongest dark presence he had ever come up against and he only prayed he had the spiritual strength to confront it.

He had consulted his runes several times over his journey, and every time they gave him the same message in one way or another. A fallen spirit….a wronged person who died many eras ago had found a pathway through the king and was using him to exact some kind of vengeance. For what reason and upon whom, Gilbert would have to ask the spirit directly. But for now, he knew that the spirit was deadly, intelligent and had the advantage over the ignorant castle inhabitants.

The dark clouds swirled and coiled above the spires of the palace. The sky emanated darkness from above the great fortress. Only a truly powerful spirit could influence the weather to this degree. Such a spirit could only possess god-like powers to have such control over the atmosphere.

The "local ghosts" as Gilbert called them, were wary and even warned him of the omnipotent spirit that permeated the kingdom. They were the ghosts of people long dead and forgotten, the ghosts of the poor and unwanted that lurked the shadows, well out of sight of the living, except for Gilbert, whom they called out to from their hiding places among the alleys and abandoned buildings of the capital.

They were frightened of the presence. Such a power only reminded them of the hell that awaited them - should they ever decide to cross over. Many times, Gilbert had to force such ghosts to make the final journey, even if it meant damning them to an afterlife of atoning for their sins. Which for many meant eternal torment. Gilbert didn't blame them for choosing to haunt the living.

Gilbert took little time to strategize. Such a thing was a luxury for someone in his line of work. Ghosts were perpetually unpredictable, so a strategy could not be formed until Gilbert discerned the nature of the spirit in question. However, he tried to concoct some plan of approach, should the spirit be as violent as it was powerful.

'I have no desire to harm my own kind…'

The words of the shadow on the road replayed in Gilbert's memory. He had never experienced disinterest from a spirit before. Usually, they killed and tormented indiscriminately, but his spirit had a plan and perception that Gilbert hadn't seen before and it unnerved him slightly.

The looming shadow of Blood Pledge Castle grew even larger as he made it past the outskirts of the capital and trudged through the mud up the sloping road that led to the front gates. All the while he knew that the spirit that tortured the king had sensed his presence.

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Yozak and Gunter pushed their steeds to the limit as they approached Shinou's Temple in steadily pouring rain.

Gwendal had received a frenetically scribbled message of distress from the shrine maidens early that afternoon. The note hastily claimed that the Sage had locked himself in his chambers f0r days, refusing food and water, choosing to stay in his room surrounded by gigantic piles of books and old manuscripts. The maids had left him alone until the screaming and strange voices began a fortnight ago. But when they tried to break in the door, they were met by an impenetrable force and could not reach the hapless sage.

It had been six days since the sage had come to the castle and just as quickly left. Yozak would never forget the sheer panic on the younger man's face and that in itself despaired him, for the sage was the unshakable strategist, stolid and calm no matter the situation. To see the sage so upset and terrified, disturbed Yozak greatly. He would have gone after him and brought him back, but after the Murata's departure, everything went to shite and he, Conrad, Gwendal, and Gunter were preoccupied with sedating a mad king and keeping a struggling country afloat.

There had been no time for answer, no time for closure or help. The sage was their last hope and when that failed, they all lost whatever hope they had and they truly felt that they would lose King Yuuri and their kingdom. Gunter had combed the archives and libraries looking for some sort of answer only to come upon even greater mysteries that seemed insignificant but the advisor said that something in his gut told him that they should explore the mystery of this Elberich and what happened thousands of years ago when their kingdom was a bunch of feudal tribes.

Gunter had found little no mention of Elberich in any historical text. The small snippets he had been able to scrounge up were vicious diatribes against Elberich and his apparent involvement in a mysterious event known as the Massacre at Chicane. Elberich's name and this event came up within the same passages, no matter what manuscript Gunter had in his hand. But the texts were letters between close acquaintances and the event went unexplained and Gunter could only surmise that it had something to do with the founding of the Demon Kingdom.

They forced their horses to stop at the looming gates of the Temple. Gunter and Yozak were thoroughly soaked to their skin by the heavy rain that had started right after their departure. The roads were little more than rivers of mud and rocks leading up to the ancient Temple of the True King.

Gunter was the first it dismount, his grey robes stained with mud and debris from the journey. The gates opened up as sons as he neared them with Yozak fast behind him and they were greeted by Ulrike and two pale-faced shrine maidens.

"Your Excellences," Ulrike said shakily as she curtsied. "We are most relieved that you are here."

"What has happened, Ulrike?" Gunter asked as he sped past them to enter the Temple. Ulrike and the maidens quickly feel into place behind him and tried to explain their strange and terrifying situation.

"It is the Sage," She said worriedly. "He returned from the palace six days ago, looking as if the gates of hell were trying to swallow him up if he didn't move fast enough! He said nothing to anyone, but he went straight to his rooms and locked himself there. He has emerged and he does not touch the food that the maidens bring him."

"He has been in his rooms for six days?" Gunter asked in disbelief.

Ulrike nodded. "He refuses to come out and when I've asked of his well-being, he only says to leave him be. My hope is that you could help him."

"We will try," Yozak said when Gunter didn't answer right away, too focused on getting some much needed answers.

Gunter stopped abruptly and gave Yozak a grim look. "We will go to him…and then search the archives for answers."

Yozak nodded and Ulrike made to lead them to where Murata stayed at the Temple.

"We will need access to your archives, Ulrike," Gunter said shortly.

"O-Of course," Ulrike said as she lead them deeper into the temple. "You may have whatever you require."

"Thank you," Gunter said curtly.

Ulrike led them up a winding staircase until they reached the furthermost parts of the temple. Both men felt the same heavy atmosphere at the palace and it seemed to grow stronger the closer they got to their destination.

Ulrike came to a stop a good ten feet away from the door, as if some great danger was hidden behind it. She turned towards the two men, a mixture of hope and fear as she explained to them;

"He's inside," She said. "He has refused to come out for any reason. Sometimes, we hear the sounds of yelling and crashing."

"Why have you not tried to break in the door?" Yozak asked as he walked up and tried to shove the doors open. They didn't budge.

Ulrike shook her head sadly. "No one here brave enough to try. When we would call out to him, he would order us to stay away. And besides, he sealed the door with magic that not even I can break."

Yozak shouted through the door. "Your Grace! It's Yozak and Lord von Christ! We need your help with King Yuuri! He's gone completely mad!"

There was a muffled shuffled noise, a small groan and then silence. Yozak banged as hard as he could.

"Your Grace! What's going on! We need you to help us save the king!"

"Your Grace!" Gunter called out beside Yozak. "I must implore you to let us in! We are in a desperate situation…if you don't help us, I fear the kingdom will suffer more than it already has! We are in a state of total chaos!"

Total silence.

"Let me…" Yozak offered, shoving Gunter out of the way.

"Your Grace, we will force open this door if you don't come out on your own!"

Again, total silence.

"Fine then," Yozak muttered and rammed the door with his shoulder.

"Yozak!" Gunter exclaimed, startled by the loud bang of the broad shouldered man ramming the door.

Yozak said nothing and only continued to slam his body into the door over and over again. While simultaneously yanking at the handle to force it open.

The door finally gave away after a great effort on the spy's part. Yozak clumsily caught himself from falling and stood up in the dark room.

"Your Grace?" Yozak called hesitantly into the darkness.

He stepped forward into the room and stopped when his foot pressed down on a pile of broken glass.

"What the hell?" Yozak stared at the seemingly benign collection of glass shards and next to it a piece of bent wire. Yozak picked up the wire and upon further inspection found it to be a pair of destroyed spectacles.

Gunter ventured into the room, scanning the space for any sign of the sage. He noticed the twisted eyeglass frame in Yozak's hand and sucked in a tense breath.

"This isn't good," Yozak said, reaching for the sword at his side. Gunter also drew his own blade and they cautiously entered the inky blackness.

"Bring us a light!" Gunter hissed at the waiting High Priestess, who nodded quickly and went to fetch a torch.

Yozak felt around the floor in front of him with his foot, it seemed that the floor was littered with various objects thrown around, but there was no sign of the sage.

"Your Grace!" Gunter called out. "Where are you?"

Both men froze when a low shuffling noise came from one of the adjacent rooms

"Your Grace!" Gunter shouted in growing panic. He pushed past Yozak to frantically search for their only hope.

Yozak followed Gunter, but stopped short when his nose was assaulted by the pungent scent of burning skin. The only reason he knew the smell immediately was because of his past in the war. It was a smell that could never be forgotten.

"Your Excellency, step back!" Yozak ordered, fearing foul play. He moved to stand at Gunter's side, sword positioned in front of them for any unseen attacker.

"Your Excellences!" Ulrike called from the doorway holding a lit torch. "I have brought light!"

Yozak quickly retrieved the torch and returned to Gunter's side. The room was illuminated by the red glow of the flame, revealing the destruction that lay around them.

"Great Shinou," Gunter whispered in shock.

The room looked as if some great animal had attacked it. Furniture, tapestries, drapes and books lay torn to pieces around them. The walls were covered in long, deep claw marks. The rank smell grew even stronger as they slowly walked further into the room.

After a while, they both noticed that there was a pattern to the claw marks. Carved deep into the walls were various runes, symbols, and calligraphy from every kind of dialect known in the kingdom, some dead, some still vernacular.

"They all say the same thing," Gunter said quietly, having greater knowledge of language than the spy. "Justice."

Sure enough, Yozak happened to find the collection of symbols from the king's native language that his Maou side often carved into the landscape when he exacted his judgment on his enemies.

"Justice," Yozak echoed.

A low thump from just beyond the pool of light cast by the torch caught the men unawares. The thump was followed by the sound of chains clinking together in the darkness. And then a weak moan.

"Sage!"

"Your Grace!"

Yozak and Gunter rushed forward. The light of the torch cast upon the pathetic body of the once great sage.

The image before them was so many kinds of wrong that it left them struck dumb.

The sage the wisest man in the universe, was dangling limply from a pair of shackles crudely attached to the wall. The scent of burned flesh was strongest and the light revealed why; he was covered in grotesque burn marks laid down by the still smoking iron rod at his feet.

Yozak was the first to act. He handed the torch to Gunter who caught it somewhat clumsily, and rushed to free the sage.

"Your Grace!" Yozak called out, gently shaking the man as he lowered him down from his chains. "Can you hear me?"

Murata stirred slightly but made no indication that he heard Yozak.

"Ulrike! The Sage needs medical attention now!" Yozak heard Gunter shout behind him.

At the sound of Gunter's voice, Murata started to awaken. Yozak listened raptly for any coherent affirmation of the Sage's condition.

"Your Grace," Yozak tried again. "Murata!"

Glassy eyes blinked up at him, unseeing and terrified.

"He won't stop…" Murata rasped.

"Who won't stop?" Yozak asked in confusion.

"He…won't stop….until we're all dead….Until…the entire kingdom is destroyed."

"What are you talking about?"

Murata slowly turned in Yozak's arms and weakly reached for a tattered book tossed to the side. Long fingers gripped the ancient looking tome and placed it in Yozak's confused hand.

"He wants revenge…he wants justice…Elberich…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gwendal was going to kill King Yuuri.

That was his one heart's desire as he watched the healers practically sew his baby brother back together. The extent of the damage was shown in all its horrid glory when they peeled the remains of his clothing from his body.

Fractured bones, scratches and bites along his arms, a concussion, strangulation, and a black eye. That was what the king did to Wolfram in only a few seconds before the guards finally broke down the door and stopped the fight.

"Poor bastard…" Gwendal thought morosely, recalling the battered body of one of the guards being dragged away to the morgue.

Wolfram was laid, stripped down to his undergarments, on a thin cot. He was unconscious save for the occasional whimper when a healer was a little too rough with the stitching and Gwendal had to suppress his older brother protectiveness and not scold the healer for his callousness.

It broke Gwendal's heart to see Wolfram, his vibrant, passionate brother, reduced to a mere waif on a bed, barely able to move. In all his years of mentoring Wolfram's burgeoning military career, he had never seen the younger demon sustain such injuries. Even in the most dangerous of battles, Wolfram never came out with anything more than a bruise or two, despite being in the heat of it. To see him like this was too much for the general.

Gwendal was overcome by despair and anger. Everything they had tried, everything they had hoped was for absolutely nothing! All the medicine, the therapy, the feigned ignorance of Yuuri's deteriorating condition meant nothing and their entire world was left to rot as Yuuri's disease threatened to drag them all down into insanity along with their king.

Wolfram was innocent. He had done nothing to deserve this and yet he was the one Yuuri attacked first. Yuuri had struggled against Gwendal and Conrad, but never outright attacked them in cold blood with an unmistakable intent to kill. If the guards hadn't broken in and circumvented Yuuri's attention, then Wolfram wouldn't have survived.

Gwendal's pity was interrupted when Marko entered the room.

Marko stood, dressed in his usual dark grey robes, only the slightest hint of apprehension was present on his face as he surveyed the damage done to the youngest demon prince.

Looking genuinely confused, he turned to Gwendal. "What has happened here? Where is the king?"

The bitterness in Gwendal was more than eager to assault this new target.

"He's bound in chains in his room. Anything that can be used as a weapon has removed." Gwendal explained tersely.

Marko averted his gaze to the floor in contemplation. "This….is most disturbing. I've never seen the transformation have such an affect on a single person…"

"You were supposed to have all the answers!" Gwendal hissed. "You told us that you knew what was going to happen and that it could be alleviated! That if we gave him the medicines and kept him isolated that we could weather this change with little damage!"

"Are you going to try and blame me again?" Marko said in contempt. "I said I could alleviate the symptoms yes, but I also mentioned that this is the first time something like this has happened in the history of the change. Everyone else before him is either dead or bound in chains somewhere in an asylum! I am not lying to you when I say that I have done everything I can think of and that I am as lost as you!"

"You're the only one here with any idea of how to handle this!" Gwendal shot back, frustrated and hopeless, he jabbed a threatening finger a the doctor. "You are the only one how can stop this form happening! The kingdom is on its knees and our king has become an animal! If he can't be helped then Shin Makoku will fall and we'll be carrion for our enemies!"

Marko was silent for a long moment. He regarded Gwendal with grim resolve.

"When I worked with the last Verschmelzung." He began. "His family was a lot like you. They let their entire village burn down before they let themselves consider the worst possible solution. When the medicine and treatments no longer work and it becomes a choice of your own preservation versus his own…terrible sacrifices must be made."

Gwendal immediately knew what Marko spoke of. "That is not an option!" he growled.

Marko inclined his head towards where Wolfram lay. "Look at what he did to your brother,_ his own fiancé_. Is this the king that you know? If he was willing to murder his future husband…what else is he capable of? He has become too dangerous."

No matter how dire their situation, Gwendal would never agree to what Marko was suggesting. "No...we would never do that….Yuuri is not like your previous patients! He is the Demon King and we would never end his life deliberately. What you speak of is murder and treason!"

Marko was unmoved. "What are you willing to do to save the kingdom, Lord Voltaire? Shin Makoku is in ruins. The people risk starvation. I'm sure that your enemies are licking their chops as word reaches them of the mad king - "

"Be silent!" Gwendal snarled. "You overstep your boundaries, Doctor Marko! If it were another time, I would have you thrown in the dungeon for speaking about the king in such a way!"

Deep in his gut, Gwendal knew that what Marko suggested was not far from the truth. He too had thought of what the other families of past Verschmelzungs had done when the burden became too great. Yuuri's condition had permeated the entire kingdom, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. He could only imagine the secret plots and conspiracies being conjured by the likes of Dai Cimarron and others who saw the opportunity to seize the weakened kingdom. He too had thought of what might have to be done in order to save what was left of their kingdom…even sacrificing their beloved king.

But he would never let Marko know that.

"We have to save the king." Gwendal said vehemently. "If we don't then the kingdom really will fall to ruin."

Wolfram stirred weakly from his spot on the bed. Immediately forgetting Marko, Gwendal knelt down at his little brother's side as Wolfram struggled to lift his head from the pillow.

"Wolfram, don't move!" Gwendal admonished him gently. "You're seriously injured."

Wolfram ignored his brother's warning and struggled to push himself up, but fell back when his strength was spent.

"Where…is Yuuri?"

"He is…in his room." Gwendal said after an awkward pause. Was Wolfram's obsession with Yuuri so self-destructive that he would ask for him after being nearly killed by him?

"I must see him! He needs me!" Apparently so.

"Wolfram, he tried to kill you!" Gwendal exclaimed. "You cannot see him!"

Before he could finish his sentence , Wolfram was already shaking his head.

"No…" He whispered. " That wasn't him! Yuuri is trapped somewhere. That's someone else in his body!"

Gwendal started to respond, but was cut off when an irate Waltorana burst into the room.

"Where is the king?!" The Bielefeld patriarch demanded. He stopped short when he saw his nephew lying vulnerable on the bed. "Wolfram!"

Rudely shoving Gwendal aside, Waltorana took one of his Nephew's hands, concern clearly visible across his face. "Are you all right?"

Wolfram ignored his uncle. "I need to be with Yuuri."

Waltorana was incensed. "You certainly will not! I won't allow that madman near you! As a matter of fact, you can now consider your engagement broken!"

Wolfram stared up at Waltorana indignantly. "But, Uncle! You don't understand! - "

"This has gone too far!" Waltorana exclaimed, standing to his feet to face Gwendal and Marko. "I am appalled by the incompetence of you all! You let the king become a wild animal and you allowed him to attack my nephew! For what purpose!? Why did you keep this a secret?"

"Because we knew that you and other Aristocrats would be more of a hindrance than a help." Gwendal said, not backing down from Waltorana's imposing presence. "The fewer people knew the better. You have made it very clear what you think of Yuuri. The last thing we needed was of you to find another reason to undermine his rule!"

Waltorana scoffed. "Well it seems my concerns were true! He is not a worthy king if he is no longer sane! This disease you speak of has completely immobilized him! He is no longer fit to rule!"

"Uncle, we have to help Yuuri!" Wolfram protested weakly. "We're the only ones that can help him!"

"As soon as you are strong enough, I'm taking you back to Bielefeld" Waltorana said with finality. "You will never set foot in this place again!"

A small part of Gwendal agreed with Waltorana. An even smaller part wanted to join him and Wolfram in Bielefeld and never see this palace again.

They were truly at the end of their rope. What allies and aid they might find was trapped by the mud slides and torrential rain that plagued the kingdom.

His mother was stranded in a harbor in Caloria, Anissina was trapped in her family's lands, the entire estate surrounded by mounds of eroded dirt from the mudslides, and Gisela was in the Christ territory, nursing the refugees who sought the estate's higher land from the floods. Their allies were in various states of disarray and supplies were dwindling due to trade routes being buried under mud and debris.

They were truly alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Conrad watched the foaming creature before him in disgust and fear.

He and several other guards had managed to subdue the king and were forced to chain him to a heavy wooden chair in the royal bedroom.

They had sustained several injuries because of their reluctance to manhandle their monarch. Yuuri was incredibly violent as they tried to subdue him. He bit and snarled and scratched at anything and anyone who came within reach. Gone was the sweet and gentle godson Conrad knew and loved and in his place was some monster that wore his face and cursed him as he chained his ankles and wrists to the chair.

They had all been so hopeful just the other day! Marko had declared Yuuri on the road to recovery, his godson had shown some tiny resemblance to the young man he had once been. Everything was looking up for them and they could finally begin the road to recovery and bring stability back to the kingdom.

A small moment of reprieve that they thought was the end was merely an interlude to true disparity. Yuuri not was getting better, he was not going to return to being the gentle soul they all loved and obeyed. No, he would digress into something even more heinous than what he was now. He was completely lost to them.

The thrashing, murderous and foulmouthed thing that cursed the very air Conrad breathed was not his godson.

Conrad's mind drifted back to what Dr. Marko had said about the other Verschmelzungs he had studied. Those that survived were often violent and eon had destroyed an entire village and murdered his family before locals were able to bring him down. The others had been put out of their misery by exhausted family members who no longer had the strength to help them recover. Either way, it all seemed like death was the only solution.

Could he even fathom it? Could he ever bring himself to end his godson's life? He remembered that Marko had told them that the time may come where they will have to make an impossible decision and determine if saving their king's life was more important than saving the kingdom.

"Are you going to kill me, Conrad?" Yuuri drawled at the soldier.

Conrad froze at the grating sound of Yuuri's voice and only stared in silence as the thing that looked like Yuuri grinned maliciously.

"It's in your nature..." The thing continued. "You're a coldblooded killer, an attack dog for the crown…You can't save anyone…"

"Be quiet, Yuuri!" Conrad hissed.

'Yuuri' only grinned wider. "You can't save Yuuri…You can never save him…he will die and it will be your fault…just like Julia- "

Conrad struck the thing hard. He didn't even think that it was his godson's face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse hastily threw on a cloak and grabbed his sword as he rushed out of the castle.

That was it! He was going to find the other Verschmelzung if it killed him! The night's events proved that they had waited long enough…too long actually. Alphonse had tried to follow protocol but it had been for naught. He would have to seek out this other fused being and force him back if he had to! It was their only hope of saving the king and Shin Makoku.

Alphonse had not seen the damage the king had inflicted on Bielefeld. He had heard the frantic whispers of the palace staff that were witness to the event. A guard was killed by the king's bare hands, the Lord Bielefeld was nearly beaten to death by his own fiancé, and Lord Weller and Lord Voltaire were forced to chain the king like a rabid animal to a chair.

Everything had fallen apart. They were out of their league. He should have just sought out the other fused being sooner. He should have just ignored the rules and gone searching on his own and damn the consequences. Alphonse would have gladly risked his military career if it meant saving the king.

He had to find the Verschmelzung before more people were killed.

'I won't sit around anymore!' He thought fervently as he ran down the great steps of the palace entrance to the stables. He would need a good horse to travel the muddy roads. 'I'm the only one who can help them!'

'Even if he's crazy," Alphonse thought as he mounted his horse, ignoring the warning pleas from the stable boys about the dangerous roads. 'I have to bring him back. He might know something. Anything!'

Alphonse barked an order for the gates to be opened. The guards hastily pulled the gates apart as Alphonse urged his mount into a gallop.

He hadn't made it ten yards past the gate before he yanked his horse into a halt to stop from barreling over the figure standing in the middle of the road.

"What the- who are you?" Alphonse demanded, angry that someone would stand in his way.

It was a tall, thin man, dressed in garishly colorful clothing covered by a sharply contrasting brown traveler's cloak. Pale hair and a bandana framed a narrow face set with icy blue eyes that stared at and through Alphonse with recognition as the man simply stood there calmly.

"My name is Gilbert Cocteau," The man replied in a smooth, quiet voice. "I think you've been looking for me?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 16!

I apologize for the long wait. I hope this chapter is everything you hoped it would be. I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as I could so I apologize for any small typos. I tried to fix them all but I always miss something.

Everything is coming to a head. The next chapter will be some much needed explanation and hopefully a solution. Will Yuuri's friends be forced to make the impossible choice for the sake of the kingdom?

We'll see!

As always, please review! They mean a lot to me and they help me become a better writer

With love,

EB


	18. Chapter 18 The Twenty Sixth Day Part 2

The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya

Hello, my readers!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm always eager to know what you think of my story. I apologize for the long wait. I've given up on keeping a steady update schedule as my life is constantly throwing me curveballs and I'm failing at dodging them.

IT'S EXPOSITION TIME!

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 17 – The Twenty-Sixth Day Part 2; Abomination

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What the- who are you?" Alphonse demanded, angry that someone would stand in his way.

It was a tall, thin man, dressed in garishly colorful clothing covered by a sharply contrasting brown traveler's cloak. Pale hair and a bandana framed a narrow face set with icy blue eyes that stared at and through Alphonse as the man simply stood there calmly.

"My name is Gilbert Cocteau," The man replied in a smooth, quiet voice. "I think you've been looking for me?"

"Gilbert Cocteau…."Alphonse repeated slowly, still somewhat miffed that this stranger would block his mission. "I've been looking for you?"

The thin man slowly walked up to Alphonse and extended his hand in greeting.

"Mayhap, not consciously. But I have been called here and told that you are in need of me."

Alphonse didn't take the offered hand, but only stared at the stranger in disbelief. "I….don't…understand….What do you - "

"I should have explained," The stranger said, letting his hand drop to his side. "I am a diviner and a Verschmelzung…or fused being as the storytellers call me."

Alphonse was flabbergasted. It was too perfect. There was no way that this was the Verschmelzung that he and Yuuri had tried to find and Marko tried to discourage. There was no way that the Verschmelzung – the one that was supposedly insane and dangerous – could have possibly shown up at the right time at the castle and know exactly why he was needed!

"There's….it's not possible….I was told that you were a recluse!"

The stranger shrugged. "I am…and was….until I was drawn here by unseen powers…" The man looked pointedly at the castle behind Alphonse. "And I could sense the malevolent spirit from many miles away."

"How could you know that we need your help?" Alphonse asked, still not quite ready to accept this windfall of a change in fortune.

"The spirits guided me here," Gilbert replied simply as he sauntered past a speechless Alphonse. "Do you not want me to help?"

Alphonse stumbled for a minute. "Uh,…well yes! I've meant to track you down and bring you back!"

"Then take me to the king," Gilbert instructed not waiting for Alphonse to catch up, he purposefully walked towards the looming castle. His purpose was in there and he would fulfill it.

* * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse really didn't know what to make of the stranger in front of him. A part of him was skeptical that this was the man he was looking for. The coincidence was too perfect. And yet…. it was so perfect as to make it impossible that the pale man in front of him wasn't the other Verschmelzung. He had the same air as King Yuuri. The same haunted look and wistful expression that were so common place on the once cheery monarch. The pale man – Gilbert – rarely spoke during the long trek back ton the castle, only silently mouthing words into the distance that Alphonse could only assume was for someone unseen. He had seen Yuuri do the same thing; stare into the distance like he was watching something unfold before him and mouthing words in a language only he knew in response.

Alphonse could only guess as to how the generals would react to this new arrival. He had overstepped so many boundaries that he was sure he would be court martialed or imprisoned for his actions. He only hoped he could get them to listen to Gilbert before they locked him away for good.

While Alphonse stood in contemplation, Gilbert watched the worried young man. All around them, he could feel the miasma pulsing and oscillating through every solid being – even the buildings were infected with the dark energy that permeated the castle. He knew that the oppressive force would only intensify as he drew closer to the palace.

It was like an infectious disease, it ailed everyone around him, and spread from person to person until all where consumed by the torpor brought upon them by the entity.

"If you want my help," Gilbert said after an awkward pause. "We should get going."

Knocked out of his stupor, Alphonse stammered a bit before agreeing and curtly ordering Gilbert to follow him back to the palace. HE clumsily offered Gilbert a ride, but the mystic shook his head and volunteered to merely follow behind the steed. Animals didn't like Gilbert, and this horse was no different. It glared at Gilbert with fear, sensing that he was not of this world and potentially dangerous. In actuality, he was.

The return to the palace was long and every step brought them closer to the dark force. Gilbert could feel the core of the entity – the spectre that controlled everything, watching him and coursing around its victims. It was as aware of him as he was of it. It exuded nothing but rancor and sadness. A force of misery that wanted to drag everything and everyone down with it…and so far it was succeeding.

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Gwendal pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain effort to dispel the growing migraine that clawed at the backs of his eyeballs. Conrad stood in front of him – contrite and embarrassed – after confessing to his brother what happened in the room with the king.

"You do know that what you did counts as assault against the sovereign monarch and as such could end in your execution?" Gwendal growled in frustration into his hand that still pinched the spot between his eyes.

Conrad hung his head. "I'm sorry, Brother. I….lost my control."

"That much is certain," Gwendal huffed. The eldest prince began to pace about the room to burn off some of the nervous energy that coursed through him.

The room was blessedly silent now. Waltorana had left in a huff after his argument with Wolfram, claiming that he was taking his nephew away in the morning. Gwendal had no idea how he would accomplish that with the roads in the terrible condition that they were. There was no getting in or out of the city. All travel had been halted and the capital's citizens were forced to hole up in their homes and wait out the storm.

Wolfram was sleeping peacefully on his bed. The fight with his uncle had worn him out and Marko had administered a sleeping aid to put the demon to rest, for he refused to lie still until he saw Yuuri. For once, Gwendal was thankful for something that the coldhearted doctor had done.

After administering the medicine, Marko drifted off to a corner of the infirmary to wallow in his own thoughts. Still as a statue, the old doctor looked out into the inky darkness of the night, strangely his demeanor was subdued and hunched. He no longer exuded his usual calm arrogance and instead looked downtrodden and worried, lost in his own world.

Gwendal was content to leave him there. Every time the doctor opened his mouth, Gwendal had to fight to hold back the disdain he felt for the man. In some ways, Gwendal and Marko were very similar; they were both men of logic and duty, hardened to suffering and hardships, they favored cold truth over delusional dreams and they were stalwart in their objectivity and unrelenting stoicism. However, Gwendal had somehow, through the love and happiness his younger brothers brought him, been able to keep his humanity. Marko on the other hand, had clearly lost his own.

Gwendal could grudgingly understand Marko's points. He didn't like them. He had to wonder to himself what could have happened to Marko to make him the way he was. Gwendal had experienced his share of tragedy, betrayal, and death and yet had managed to come out of it with his conscience intact…but Marko…Marko was what Gwendal could have been, had he not a family.

Gwendal's attention shifted when Yozak entered the room and broke the heavy silence.

"How is the Sage?" Gwendal asked, not liking the grim expression on the spy's face.

Yozak shook his head hopelessly. "He's stable. He keeps muttering these strange things that no one can make out. It looks like he was tortured for days and yet the Ulrike and the maidens say thy heard nothing during the time after he returned. We only have that little book he gave us."

A book? "Do you have it with you?"

Yozak produced the worn book from the folds of his tunic. He had tucked it away while they transported the sage form the temple to the palace on a makeshift gurney.

He handed it to Gwendal, who immediately thumbed through the yellowed pages. He frowned when he realized that it was written in the Old Tongue. Only Gunter or the Sage had any chance of deciphering it.

"Send for Lord Christ. We need him to translate this for us." Gwendal handed the book back to Yozak, slightly disappointed that it couldn't yield an immediate answer. Nothing was simple for them anymore.

"What do you think it could be?" Yozak asked, taking the book and placing it back into his pocket to give to Gunter.

"I wouldn't know until we had it translated for us. And we need Gunter for that."

As if on cue, a frantic knock at the infirmary door sharply interrupted the men. Marko, Gwendal, Yozak and Conrad all turned toward the incessant knocking. It was Yozak who opened the door and reveal a soaking wet Alphonse…and an odd looking bloke standing behind him.

"Webber!" Gwendal said in surprise and slight consternation. That boy managed to show up everywhere.

"My Lords," Alphonse said with a hasty bow. "I've found the other Verschmelzung! He says he can help the king!"

All eyes were on the other man, who took a step forward when Alphonse said he could be of help.

He was dressed in the garish colors of the fortunetellers Gwendal would see at festivals as a child. A dirty brown cloak was draped over one arm, carelessly dripping water onto the floor. A faded bandanna bound stringy pale blond hair that framed a narrow face. The look was completed by an elaborately decorated large box strapped to the man's back.

Strangely, Gwendal had to take a second look at the man for there was something about his features that exuded an otherworldly energy that Gwendal had only ever sensed in Yuuri when he changed into the Maou.

"What is the meaning of this, Webber!" Gwendal said sternly, ignoring the nagging feeling of familiarity. "I told you to no longer interfere!"

"You did," Alphonse said with unusual defiance. "However, I disregarded it and it came out for the better! This man believes he might know the reason for the king's illness!"

Gwendal was about to retort when the odd stranger stepped from behind Alphonse and gave a small bow in greeting.

"My lord," The man began in a smooth voice. "My name is Gilbert Cocteau and I am indeed a Verschmelzung. Please do not draw ire from your soldier's actions. I was on my way here anyway when I felt the disturbance in the atmosphere. It was by chance that we met each other on the road."

"What do you mean?" Conrad asked, speaking up for the first time. "How could you be on your way here?"

"I could not explain it without sounding mad. But I was summoned here by the restless spirits who are just as upset as you over the king's apparent suffering." Gilbert replied simply.

Gilbert suddenly stopped short and looked around the room before landing on the prone form of Wolfram, still sleeping on his cot.

"What happened to him?" Gilbert said, shuddering as if he could feel Wolfram's injuries psychically.

"He was injured during one of the king's fits," came Marko's voice from the corner.

Gwendal glared at the old doctor. Angry that he would speak out of turn so. But Marko was not interested in Gwendal. He was fixed on the Verschmelzung, anger and resentment pouring from his being as he walked to join the group of men at Wolfram's cot.

Recognition dawned on Gilbert and he returned Marko's hostile demeanor.

"It doesn't surprise in the least that you would be here," Gilbert said, no bothering to hide his contempt for the other man.

"It does surprise me that you are lucid enough to even make the journey from whatever dark corner of the world you came from." Marko said with equal scorn.

"I've recovered quite nicely since you left," Gilbert replied contemptuously. "Better than when you treated me."

"Of course, you did," Marko retorted with a small sneer. "Setting an entire village on fire is surely a sign that you were on the road to perfect health."

"Your drugs did that to me," Gilbert hissed.

"My drugs didn't kill innocent people," Marko cut hard and deep.

"Enough!" Gwendal barked, not caring about whatever issues the two men had, though his curiosity was piqued. There were more important things.

"Can you help us save the king?" Gwendal asked Gilbert. Marko's scoff behind him did not go unnoticed.

"I can try," Gilbert said, calming down now that his attention was diverted. "I believe I have an idea of what is causing his suffering – and yours. But I must see the king myself before I can give any tangible answers. And I must see him alone"

The tension in the room increased immediately after Gilbert's request. Gwendal took it upon himself to answer him.

"The king is in no condition to see anyone unsupervised. Much less a stranger."

Gilbert nodded in understanding, but he was undeterred.

"I understand that you are concerned. My arrival was unexpected. But in order for me to do my job I must be allowed to speak with the king completely alone."

"And why is this?" Gunter spoke up, echoing Gwendal's next question.

Gilbert thought for a moment before answering. "What I do…requires complete and total concentration. If the spirit has too big an audience, it is more likely that it will act out and therefore cause more harm than if I approached it myself."

"The spirit?" Gwendal repeated disbelievingly. "You think this is caused by a ghost?"

Gilbert shrugged. "It is a high possibility. Have you exhausted all your other options?"

"Yes, we have," Conrad interjected without hesitation.

A loud scoff from behind the men turned their attention to Marko, who had been content to drill a hole in Gilbert with just his gaze.

"Surely," he began incredulously. "You don't mean to actually listen to this man! He is no miraculous healer, only a simple soothsayer who makes his living off of gullible peasant folk!"

They turned back to Gilbert, who stood in silent irritation at the doctor. The bad blood between the two was palpable.

"Who are you exactly?" Gwendal asked, all of them needing to know precisely who they were putting their trust in now.

Gilbert straightened himself to his full height and returned their questioning gazes evenly.

"I am a Verschmelzung. I went through the change when I was twenty. It lasted four weeks and then I was possessed by a spirit who forced me to murder my entire village, including my parents. I survived the change but escaped execution. What saved me was an old fortuneteller who knew of my plight and she cleansed me of the evil spirit and trained me in the art of exorcism. That was nearly thirty years ago. Now I am here to offer my services to save the king and your kingdom from complete ruin."

"This is all complete hogwash!" Marko protested. "You speak of old wives tales and superstition! You were not possessed by anything but your own insanity enabled by your parents negligence!"

Gilbert regarded Marko with less anger this time and more pity for the old man.

"I do not come here to disregard your work, Dr. Marko," he said calmly. "You are a great man of science and logic and were it anything else I would defer to you in such matters. But…there comes a time when science and logic are worthless. When facts and practicality are meaningless. When order gives way to chaos, science and logic have no place. His is not a disease of the body, but a disease of the soul. And quite frankly, you lack the knowledge and skill to deal with such an ailment and have probably made things worse."

For the first time, Marko was struck silent. His lips moved soundlessly for a second and then pressed shut as Marko glared at the younger man, subdued and seething.

Gilbert promptly returned to regard the three men who stared at him in a mix of wonder and skepticism.

"If you want my help, let me see the king. If you don't want my help, say so and I will leave and never return."

Gwendal felt that he spoke for everyone when he replied.

"Alphonse and Conrad, please escort Lord Cocteau to the king's chambers."

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Alphonse walked beside Gilbert while Conrad led the way down the darkened hall to where the king was kept.

Alphonse saw Gilbert in a whole new light now. Never before had he seen someone so wondrously take the piss out of old Dr. Marko and render the man silent! Alphonse was also suspicious that the generals were also refreshed to see someone usurp Marko's arrogance. Something they had been unable to do since until now he was their only source of aid for King Yuuri.

But now, Gilbert was here and hopefully his methods would prove more effective than anything Marko had tried thus far.

Conrad had attempted to offer Gilbert a summary of what they had been going through, but Gilbert raised a hand and politely informed them that he did not require a briefing of their situation.

When asked as to why, Gilbert replied. "I can't have any information ruined by power of suggestion. It is simply to maintain objectivity."

So for the first half of their journey, they were quiet. As they neared the King's chambers, Alphonse's curiosity got the best of him.

"What exactly do you plan to do when you see the king?"

Gilbert thought for a bit before answering. "I will attempt to speak to the spirit directly and gather what information I can about it."

"Do you think you can save the king by doing this?" Conrad asked, taking advantage of Gilbert's willingness to speak.

"My hope is that I can," Gilbert said. "I am careful to never make promises. I can only find out what's wrong and suggest a course of action that should fix everything. However, the spirit world is tumultuous and violent. I can never predict the outcome."

"Very well," Conrad said, but it was clear that Gilbert's answer was not what he had hoped.

"Fear not," Gilbert said with a small smile. "All is not lost yet. There is still hope for the king."

They reached the large doors to the royal chamber, Conrad took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The tumblers were loud in the quiet hallway. They were the only souls present. All the servants had been ordered to stay away from the king's chambers for their own safety.

"The king is inside," Conrad whispered as no to disturb the volatile inhabitant within. "Please use utmost caution."

Gilbert nodded firmly. "I shall. Thank you."

"Alphonse and I will wait here in case of an emergency," Conrad said in a tone that indicated that Gilbert had little choice in the matter.

Gilbert gave another nod and slowly walked into the room. Conrad reluctantly closed the door behind him.

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The room was humid, hot, and dark. The only light came from the slowly dying fire in the large hearth at the end of the king's massive bedroom. The fireplace cast a pool of light that didn't quite reach the edge of the luxurious bed to Gilbert's right. The rest of the room was clad in darkness and shadows that played at the edges of the orange glow.

In a large chair planted in front of the fire, casting a long thin shadow sat a figure with his arms laid on each armrest and his bare feet planted firmly against the legs of the chair. A pair of bedroom slippers were tossed carelessly to the side, the only indication that the figure had been unruly, having kicked them off during a fit of aggression against his handlers.

The aura was strongest here. Gilbert drew closer and it became obvious that the source of the dark miasma was coming from within the figure in the chair. It twirled and coiled around the stone-still limbs, and hung around a drooping head. It poured from every fiber of the figure in the chair and pulsed throughout the labyrinthine halls of Blood Pledge Castle.

The aura reacted immediately to Gilbert, recognizing him for what he was and withdrawing into the bound figure, readying itself for whatever Gilbert planned to do. There was curiosity in the aura mixed with arrogance and bemusement at what this simple half-blood planned to do in a feeble attempt to steal its victim.

"Your Majesty?" Gilbert called out gently to the figure.

The figure remained completely still, completely oblivious to the stranger in the room. Gilbert called out again, this time a little louder and harsher.

Gilbert called out one more time and finally, he got a reaction. The figure tensed, the aura around him snapped to attention, his drooped head slowly lifted up to stare unseeingly ahead before turning to the source of the disturbance.

Gilbert moved until he stood just before the great Demon King. He said nothing, but allowed sunken eyes to appraise him, careful not to make a sudden move that would irritate the miasma.

This is what had become of the 27th Demon King. The stories that travelers shared with the villagers where Gilbert lived spoke of a bright, cheerful and childlike king who had nothing but love for everyone around him – even his worst enemies. The king was an energetic youth that dragged his retainers on endless schemes and adventures and yet always came out of it better in the end.

This wasn't the king Gilbert had heard of. This was a shriveled wraith dressed in a damp nightshirt and thin trousers tied to a chair with leather straps far too harsh and strong for something appearing so frail.

King Yuuri's face was a wan mask. His expression was devoid of any emotion or life. Dry lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes were glazed over and hooded, pupils dilated far too wide, skin stretched over sharp cheekbones as a testament to the weeks of starvation that the entity haunting the king had subjected him to. What parts of his skin were exposed to Gilbert's scrutiny were decorated with scratches and bruises on clammy skin. His wrists and ankles were chafed and bleeding from his struggles against his confines. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. He was completely empty – a lifeless puppet to the entity that tormented him and his family.

Yuuri exhibited the physical signs of someone haunted by malevolent spirits. He exhibited signs of someone subjected to endless torture and illness. He was teetering on the edge between catatonia and death. To Gilbert's experienced appraisal, King Yuuri was in an advanced state of spiritual torment by a particularly strong spirit.

"Your Majesty," Gilbert said gently, trying to come off as non-threatening as possible. He moved to kneel in front of the kin to make eye contact and reach out to the suffering man. He felt the dark aura reach out from Yuuri's being and touch him inquisitively. He paid no mind and instead focused on his charge.

"My name is Gilbert," he continued, voice gentle and soothing. "I am here to help you overcome what is ailing you."

King Yuuri weakly stirred from his seat. Gilbert remained completely still, regarding the king expectantly as the monarch's cracked lips struggled to form words.

"Is….he alive?" The king asked in a dreadfully hoarse voice.

"Who is, your Majesty?" Gilbert replied evenly.

For the first time, King Yuuri's expression slipped from its stone mask and changed into one of extreme guilt and sadness.

"…..Wolfram….my fiancé….Is he alive?"

Gilbert thought for a moment and then realization dawned on him. The young blond demon on the cot. That must have been the King's infamous fiancé, Wolfram von Bielefeld. The man was indeed alive though looking only slightly better off than the king.

"He is alive," Gilbert said and watched the king visibly relax in his seat. The relieved look dissolved into a sad and contemplative expression as King Yuuri stared into the dying fire behind Gilbert.

Gilbert waited patiently. Rushing or forcing an explanation could hurt his efforts. He tuned in to the swirling energy around them to gauge the hold that the dark entity had on Yuuri. He couldn't pick up a name or motivation for the entity. It was stubbornly silent, content to simply examine him from its place inside the king. It was not intent to attack him yet, but it stood in warning should he pose a threat.

"You must kill me," the King whispered so faintly that Gilbert had to strain to hear him.

"I can't do that, your Majesty," Gilbert couldn't help but be saddened at the downtrodden man.

"You must," the king was a little louder this time, the leather bonds at his wrists creaked when he shifted to sit up.

"I am here to help you, your Majesty. All is not lost yet."

The King sunk back into his seat. He looked up at a distant corner of the room at something only he could see. Gilbert never turned his attention away from the king, but he could feel the entity collect and strengthen above and behind him where the king was staring.

After a long pause, the king spoke again. "He is laughing at you…"

Yes, Gilbert could feel the mocking demeanor of the energy now. But, he still needed to know the origin.

"Who is 'he'?"

King Yuuri sluggishly returned his gaze to Gilbert, still listening to the entity.

"He says that there is nothing you can do. He will have his revenge and if you try to stop him, he will kill you and Serge."

Gilbert suppressed the chill that rand down his spine. It wasn't the first time an entity had threatened him, but it was the first time his lover had been threatened.

"King Yuuri," Gilbert said, deciding to ignore the entity's taunts for now. Getting angry or distracted wouldn't help. "You have to tell me what the spirit wants from you. You have to let me in."

Before Gilbert could finish speaking, Yuuri was already shaking his head.

"You can't….It wouldn't matter….He says he will not suffer a lowly soothsayer…"

"You don't have to be his mouthpiece, your Majesty," Gilbert said sternly, allowing a smidge of annoyance to enter his tone.

Changing tactics, he continued with an attempt to slightly bait the entity into revealing itself.

"If you are as strong as you imply," Gilbert began, addressing the spirit directly. "Then come forth and speak your own words, instead of hiding behind a sickly young man."

For a moment, the king regarded Gilbert with confusion and then fear as the miasma picked up activity and tightened its grip around them. Gilbert stood up, calmly looking down at the king, waiting for the entity to take the jab.

One minute…two minutes went by with nothing. The two men were absolutely still in the oppressive room. The entity collected itself around the king and hovered just below the surface of a pale, frightened face.

Gilbert wanted to break the surface and drag the entity out to expose it secrets and, hopefully, its weaknesses.

"Don't you think it cowardly?" Gilbert inquired to the entity. "That you would hide behind a beloved monarch and use his power to destroy everything while hiding in the shadows? Why should someone as powerful as you even need a puppet to fulfill your plans?"

Gilbert began to slowly circle the king, whose bearing was becoming more antagonistic as Gilbert continued to question the entity.

"You are obviously more intelligent than most spirits. I picked that up when you confronted me on the road. So why would you stick to conventional methods when you are capable of forming your own body? Why go through the pain of overcoming someone's soul in order to occupy their body? It seems like a wasted effort to me."

King Yuuri's face pulled into wretched sneer. Gilbert steeled himself. King Yuuri was no longer present.

"Tell me who you are," Gilbert ordered. "So I can draw you out like poison from a wound."

The entity let out a sharp bark of a laugh. It composed itself and met Gilbert's challenge with all the arrogance and malice the fortuneteller had come to expect from evil spirits.

"I am the dirty secret they don't want you know," the entity began, causing the king's voice to drop to a deep throaty growl. "I am the culmination of their sins. Little Yuuri is just one more pawn in their scheme and I took him."

"I didn't come here for riddles," Gilbert interjected.

The entity just sneered. "Then you came to the wrong place. This entire kingdom was built on riddles and lies. Such is the essence of the Great Demon Tribe. They will lie and murder to get their way. No care for the innocent…no care for their own blood."

"I will ask again, who are you?" Gilbert demanded.

"Why don't you ask the Sage?" The entity suggested with mock helpfulness. "He and I are well acquainted."

"What do you want?" gilbert tried another different question.

This time, the entity seemed to take him seriously.

"I want the truth," The entity seethed. "I want them to understand what they did to me and to my people. I want them to suffer for their crimes. I want justice."

"Why the king?" Gilbert pressed.

The entity gave a smug grin. "Yuuri is….my descendant…he was created from me."

Yuuri's body suddenly seized up and twisted horribly in its confines. The entity gave a shout and cursed as the king writhed and bucked against his bonds, making the heavy chair rattle and thump against the floor.

"Little wretch!" The entity hissed as it inexplicably lost control of the body it inhabited. "You will submit to me!"

Gilbert quickly stepped back and watched in horror as two beings fought over control of the king's body. He had never witnessed such a thing before and stood in rapt attention as King Yuuri twisted and bent against the straining leather straps.

Dark eyes rolled violently before focusing on Gilbert's stonily shocked face.

"He is mine!" The entity snarled. "He is mine. He is me!"

Gilbert's mind conjured a thousand different possibilities to the meaning of those words. Spirits had laid claim to their victims, many had claimed domination of a weakened prey…but none had ever…

Gilbert's mind snapped back to the present when a thin arm lashed out with unnatural speed and clamped onto his wrist.

He didn't have time to even register the squeezing pain when he was assaulted by a series of flashing images and words.

A blue pendant. A blind woman. Battle of the Originators. King Shinou. A woman with long blond hair and warrior's garb. The Sage protesting. A glass vial of blue light. Conrad Weller standing over an infant holding a toy duck. Between two worlds. A portal of water. Japan. Shibuya. The Maou and Yuuri…No Yuuri…No Maou…No Yuuri…No demon king…no power.

The faces, names, places, and things flew by Gilbert with such intense speed that it overwhelmed the seasoned exorcist and he was sent stumbling back onto the floor, wrenching his arm from the king's strong grip.

Whatever sheer force of will that allowed the king to show Gilbert his story was quickly stamped out by the entity, who bellowed in rage at being usurped by a weak king. King Yuuri's writhing increased in violence until the chair teetered back and forth on its legs.

"Tell me your name!" Gilbert shouted over the shrieking. "Tell me your real name, dark spectre!"

"_Ich bin Yuuri!"_ The entity wailed. _"Ich bin Yuuri Shibuya!"_

"Stop playing games and tell me your name!" Gilbert shouted even louder.

"_Ich bin Yuuri und Elberich! Ich bin der gleichen!"_

A frantic knocking punctuated the entity's incoherent scream. Gilbert could hear Lord Weller's concerned shouts behind the door. Gilbert struggled to translate the ancient tongue with the little knowledge he knew.

"I am the same…" Gilbert muttered.

He never got to continue, for the abused leather straps that kept Gilbert safe from the mad king's wrath finally gave and snapped. Gilbert was tackled to the ground with icy cold hands tightening around his neck as he silently cursed himself for his negligence.

The door was thrust open and Gilbert heard the sounds of Lord Weller and Alphonse attempting to pry them apart.

Gilbert gasped in air when the hands were finally yanked form his throat and he quickly backed out of the room and watched in shock as Lord Weller and three soldiers bound the king back into the chair with new leather bonds.

As he watched the chaos unfold, the images still flittered across his eyelids even after letting go and they gradually slowed. Their significance became clear and Gilbert was able to piece together exactly what was the reason for King Yuuri's possession.

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Gilbert walked slowly down the halls back towards the small infirmary where the king's retainers waited. He could hear the echoing screams of the king behind him, which had not died down since the king was rebound to his chair after a great and lengthy struggle with his bodyguard and the soldiers.

It made no sense and at the same time, it did. Gilbert had never seen a being like the king in his life. He had only read of such people in necromancer's books and children's fairytales. People like the king weren't supposed to exist. Really, King Yuuri's birth and life were nothing short of a miracle…or abomination…however one chose to see it.

'A being with a conscience ad body, but no soul.' Gilbert thought to himself. 'Something that should never have been able to survive as long as he did. Just an empty vessel.'

For a moment, Gilbert thought he was way in over his head. In his experience, exorcisms were relatively straightforward. A disturbed spirit possessed another human being – usually a close friend or relative – by displacing the victim's soul and dominating it until it got what it wanted. Gilbert's exorcisms usually consisted of finding the spirit's name, truth, and reasoning. By that he could dispel the spirit, right the wrongs, and restore order to the natural world.

Bu this was very different.

The spectre…the very evil that was destroying the Great Demon Kingdom wasn't some opportunistic dead soul lingering in the world of the living – it was coming from within the king himself.

"_Ich bin Yuuri und Elberich! Ich bin der gleichen!"_

'I am Yuuri and Elberich. I am the same." The words repeated over and over in Gilbert's head.

Well, he had the spectre's name, all he needed was its truth and reasoning. But even if he knew its truth and reasoning, by the nature of the king's existence, he wasn't sure if it could even help.

Gilbert entered the room. They were all as he had left them save for a couple of new additions. An elder demon lord bearing a striking resemblance to the now conscious younger Bielefeld, stood beside the small bed, watching the third prince cautiously sip at some broth. Lord Voltaire and Lord Christ stood just beyond them, engaging in a whispered conversation by the window and Dr. Marko, stony-faced as usual, stood in the opposite corner, face unreadable and far away from the activities inside the cramped room.

Gilbert noticed the newest occupant, another double-black demon, awake and dreadful looking, seated in a plush chair and clutching a small blanket around his shoulders, staring intently at him.

From the images the king had shown him, Gilbert immediately recognized the Great Sage, looking more like a tormented young man than a wise man.

"My lords," Gilbert said, announcing his presence.

All eyes turned on him with hope and fear. Gilbert thought on how he would explain his discovery to them.

"Have you discovered the cause of the king's disease?" Lord Voltaire cut to the chase.

Gilbert nodded hesitantly. "I believe I know what's ailing the king…and the kingdom."

Gilbert didn't miss Marko's eye roll when Lord Christ jumped in. "Can you tell us how to heal his Majesty?"

"It is not so simple, I am afraid," Gilbert sighed, recalling the violent outburst. "This is…not something I have ever encountered…"

Gilbert was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Weller and Alphonse. The two men were pale and tired from subduing the king. Alphonse especially looked disturbed.

"What happened?" Weller asked, sounding slightly accusatory. "What did you do to him?"

"What is he talking about?" Voltaire demanded. Gilbert noticed the king's fiancé place the bowl down to look up at him with curiosity and worry.

"I confronted the king," Gilbert explained calmly. "In order to find out the origin of what is controlling him, I had to speak with him. Of course, most entities don't like to be challenged and since their very nature is volatile, it reacted violently."

"Is Yuuri all right?" asked the young Lord Bielefeld which earned him a disgusted scoff from the elder Bielefeld.

"He is fine," Conrad answered for Gilbert, though a little too quickly. "He was given a sedative and is now sleeping."

"What did you do?" Gwendal echoed Conrad, though his demand was much more intimidating.

"I spoke with it," Gilbert explained. "But it was content to play games with me. It was the king who was able to give me some of the answers I need."

"How?" Gwendal demanded. "We don't have time!"

"No, we don't" Gilbert agreed grimly. "If someone would bring me some tea to calm my nerves, I would be happy to explain what I know."

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Gwendal, Gunter, Conrad, and a shaky Wolfram waited anxiously for Gilbert to finally give them the answers they so desperately needed. Murata and Marko had not moved from their perches in the room. Marko regarded them all with barely hidden disdain, but they were just as fed up with him as he was with them so they ignored him.

After a few sips, Gilbert set down his cup and began the difficult task of explaining what had happened to their ruler.

"I know what is wrong with the king …However, I am not sure how to explain this to you all because even I barely understand it myself. I really can't begin to place it into words that accurately portray what exactly the King is."

They all listened with baited breath. None of them spoke or showed any emotion other than severe anxiety. Gilbert contemplatively stirred his tea as he thought of how to proceed.

"The King is…a being unlike any other I have ever encountered in my life," Gilbert began. "King Yuuri is…in the most purest sense, a Verschmelzung of a truly evolved nature that is even beyond me, a fellow fused being. By all rights and reasons, he should not even exist in this world. The circumstances surrounding his birth are truly remarkable and tragic."

Gilbert faced the dumbstruck men. "What do you know of King Yuuri's past?"

There was an awkward silence at first, until Lord Weller quietly spoke up.

"He was chosen by the Great One to become the king," Lord Weller explained. "He was gifted with great power with which to bring in a new era for the Great Demon Kingdom."

Gilbert leaned forward intently. "What is the significance of the vial of blue light?"

There was a collective tensing between the three demon brothers. Gilbert heard the sage mutter something behind him, but kept his attention on Lord Weller.

After a silent showdown between Gilbert and the three princes, Lord Weller chose to bite the blade and revealed the secret of King Yuuri's past.

"King Yuuri is the reincarnation of a woman named Julia Von Wincott. Because of her pure nature, she was chosen by Shinou to be the soul of the next demon king. When she passed away, Shinou made her into the soul of the next demon king and with it, she was granted all of Shinou's power. I was chosen by Shinou to escort her soul into its new body and it was kept in a small bottle."

Conrad's story added much needed detail to the disjointed images that played across his memory.

"Truly remarkable," Gilbert murmured. "That makes much more sense now…"

Gilbert continued in a clear, steady voice. "Listen to me. What I am about to tell you was given to me by the king himself. When I touched the King's hand for that brief moment…King Yuuri, in a great moment of strength brought on by sheer will, told me everything. How, when and why he is the way he is and I can tell you, his existence is the cruelest, and most forbidden existence that ever came to be!"

"How can you say that about the king?" Wolfram cried in indignation. His brothers and Lord Christ mirrored his outrage at Gilbert's blasphemous words.

But Gilbert was undeterred. "King Yuuri is not even a real person like you and I, he doesn't even have a soul! His existence is an abomination. He should not exist, and yet he does because of terrible, forbidden magic that was destroyed well before the time of the Originators and yet still preserved in the memory of one man."

All eyes turned to the pale Sage.

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_September 13, 946,_

_It has begun. The ritual cleansing of the half-breeds has started. King Sebastian has ordered his soldiers to round up all the half-breeds in our lands and have them disposed of. They have grown too strong and will undoubtedly join the human rebellion. At least, that is what the King believes. _

_I pray this diary does not fall into the wrong hands. What I am about to say next could mean my life, but I cannot be silent. The half-breeds are no real threat and if they were, it would be the demon tribes' comeuppance from all the years of oppression and slavery they have subjected them to. I am one of the lucky few who has made a name for himself in the king's inner circle, but that does not make me invincible._

_I have no idea how Elberich will react to this. He is still in exile at the small family castle in Lisbon. There are rumors among the tribal leaders that the rebels see him as their savior…they are even calling him the "true demon king." Such a title is a death sentence, especially considering the bitter rivalry between him and his brother. Despite rumors, Elberich does feel compassion for the plight of half-breed bastards like himself. Now with his newfound power over water, I fear that Sebastian will see him as an increased threat and act accordingly. This is in spite of the fact that Elberich would never raise a hand against his handlers. He has yet to gain control of his abilities and is dependent on true magic wielders for guidance._

_Still, this has not assuaged King Sebastian's fears. Just yesterday, he came to me asking about black esoteric stones! Black esoteric stones can only be found deep in the human territories! No demon in his right mind will go that far behind enemy lines. But the soothsayers swear that it is the only way to physically control Elberich, should he ever go rogue._

_The king has called a council tomorrow. We will discuss the cleansing and further plans to crush the human rebels. Rufus von Bielefeld will be there. I'm certain that the king wishes to wed her to Shinou as her family controls the largest group of warriors and fire wielders…but there are yet more rumors that her heart lays elsewhere. Mayhap, we will learn more tomorrow. Camp gossip is really the only reliable source of information around here._

_This is written in my own hand,_

_Plato Daikenja_

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Hello, everyone!

I hope you all enjoyed this next chapter. I gave plenty of clues and a little explanation on why Yuuri has become possessed. Hopefully, its clear know who it is…but we don't really know "who" exactly. The twist will give you whiplash!

I took some liberties with the history of Shin Makoku as you can see.

Also, I would like to apologize to any Native German speakers. I used a German-English dictionary for the entity's dialogue so I can only hope it is accurate. The only language I have studied is Italian, so I'm not sure if German and Italian have similar syntax and sentence structures. But I gave it my best shot.

I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and continues to follow this story. You have all been a great source of support and inspiration from the beginning and I hope that the ending will fulfill all your expectations.

I apologize for the long wait. I had a little case of writer's block. Be prepared for more clues and answers in the next exciting chapter of The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya

As always, review! It helps me out a lot.

Merry Christmas! - EB


	19. Chapter 19 The Twenty-Sixth Day Part 3

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 18

Thank you to all who reviewed. I appreciate your support and encouragement

MORE EXPOSITION TIME! I think I've kept you guys waiting long enough.

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The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 18 – The Twenty-sixth Day Part Three – Confessions

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Murata felt the hard gazes of the others on him like a heavy sheet. They looked to him after Gilbert's explanation of Yuuri's true nature and wanted answers. After all, he was the sage, he always had the answers.

Murata nearly scoffed at the notion. Yes, he possessed great wisdom and talent for strategies, but he was still human. And his humanity had become painfully obvious when Elberich's restless spirit imprisoned him in his own domain and tormented him for days until Murata swore to tell the truth and whole truth.

He thought briefly of the small diary he had finally found after so many years. He remembered writing every entry and hiding the little book in a niche in the wall of his room back when he was the advisor to Shinou.

Shinou….

Murata felt frustrated and confused. Why hadn't Shinou appeared? Surely, something of this nature would have roused the fickle spirit of the Great King. But Shinou was distant from him somehow. Like he was being blocked from communicating with Murata and couldn't be reached.

This had only happened once before. When they were trying to locate and seal the four forbidden boxes of Soushou. Shinou had been strangely distant from Murata and it wasn't until it was discovered that Shinou was possessed by the Originator that Murata knew why.

But Murata didn't have time to dwell in it for too long as the three princes, a doctor Murata had never seen before, a demon lord and now a strange man looked at him expectantly.

Murata allowed himself to drift back all those years. So many memories, so many layers that he had to sift through before he could tie together the events that set the course for the demon kingdom and the world. So many small acts, small words, and emotions had created such a dramatic consequence many years after their utterance that it was amazing to the sage. How things so small could have such power.

Thought not all of them were small.. many were big, life-altering decisions whose consequences were not fully understood or respected. The most misunderstood and disrespected of them all was Elberich, the elder half-brother of Shinou whose rise to power and betrayal to the demon kingdom set the tone for Shinou's reign.

"Shinou….had a brother," Murata began to a chorus of gasps from the shocked audience. "His name was Elberich. He was a half-breed child born from one of their father's many concubines. He was trained to be Shinou's bodyguard when he became leader of their father's tribe."

Murata remembered the first time he had met Elberich. It was a few days after Shinou had appointed him as his advisor, six months after Sebastian's assassination, and just the day after the uproar over Shinou putting his trust in a double-black.

"Elberich was a double-black just like I was. Therefore, he was often feared and avoided because of the bad omen we carry…and maybe it was justified, for Elberich was a strange man. Very quiet and stern. He rarely spoke with anyone. I didn't even realize they were brothers until Shinou told me much later."

Shinou had absently revealed that dark family secret to Murata one night after a council with the other tribe leaders. He told Murata that they kept it a secret for the other tribal leaders hated the half-breeds and Elberich being both a half-breed and a double-black would have hurt Shinou's chances of uniting the tribes.

"One day, we were traveling when a group of human rebels ambushed us. They had esoteric stones so our soldiers were rendered useless. We would have been killed had Elberich not suddenly gained the ability to control water and defeat the attackers."

Murata looked up at hi audience to see if they were following him. No one dared speak and interrupt this great revelation.

"No other half-breed had been able to use magic before Elberich. So we were all amazed…and the tribesmen were afraid."

Murata recalled the tribe warriors shouting and wailing in fear at the glowing form of Elberich. They were so sure he would turn on them and kill them too. They called him an abomination.

"The war with the humans was growing in intensity…The king's council wanted to use Elberich's power to our advantage as he could use magic without being affected by esoteric stones. "

Murata shuddered at the experiments they did to Elberich. Forcing him to swallow esoteric stones, putting ground up stones in his food. It hadn't affected him at first…but it made him so sick.

"Then months later, Elberich fell terribly ill. We all thought he would die and many wondered if it was because it was unnatural for a half-breed to use magic. But he survived and we quickly realized that he was different."

Murata had witnessed dozens of battles in which Elberich's darker powers were put to use. No human being should have had to see that. Smells and colors clouded Murata's vision. Mangled corpses, blood everywhere, broken bones and swords sticking out of eye sockets. Even the most hardened of warriors would cringe at the shameless carnage that Elberich wrought…but no one could handle Elberich's "special" talent.

"He could communicate with the dead," Murata said, barely above a whisper. "At least, that's what he claimed. No one was really sure. Elberich would go into these trances and then come out of them with some new premonition. We started to believe his powers when he would predict the outcomes of battles."

Elberich hid this secret for so long from them. It was forced out of him when he had a vision of Shinou being killed by the same assassin that murdered their father. When Elberich's power was discovered, it was immediately put to use for the benefit of the demon tribes.

"Eventually, Elberich could reanimate corpses," Murata continued, not even trying to hide the disgust. "It was horrible. They would get up and fight but you could hear the moans and screams of pain from the soldiers brought back to life and forced to fight with only two limbs. This frightened the human armies so terribly that we often won simply by intimidation."

Murata sighed and took a sip of water from the cup he'd been cradling for hours. Again, not a single soul interrupted him; despite the thousands of question he could see running through their minds. After a moment, he continued.

"But the tribal leaders wanted Elberich's power to take over the entire continent…not just defeat the human rebels. With Elberich's immense power they thought the demons invincible. They were so enticed by the thought of world domination that their fear of him diminished…they never stopped to think what effect Elberich's power was having on him…. it was really more of a curse."

Murata saw Elberich's appearance in his mind clearly. The man was tall, dark, and haunted. Whenever he used his powers for war, Elberich rarely slept. He would wander around the sleeping camps until the wee hours of the morning. Murata's previous self had asked him what he was doing to which Elberich replied "They never let me sleep." Elberich would often awake with multiple unexplained bruises and cuts along his skin – some looked like claw marks, but he could never tell them where or how he got them. Elberich was always pale of skin with sunken eyes ringed in black from insomnia, looking for all the world like a tormented man.

"Through the power of witches, they slowly began to strip Elberich's will from him. Shinou was against it from the beginning…but the demon tribes' paranoia of the humans was too great. Even though we had a clear advantage with Elberich, they wanted to make him the perfect weapon."

The binding spells the witches used were terrible. While Elberich was sent out to the battlefields, the witches would stay at their fortress and cast blood bindings from a distance and rendered Elberich completely subservient to his handlers, robbing him of his conscience…and his sanity.

"Elberich was furious when he found out and I thought he would turn against us, but Shinou stopped him. He convinced Elberich that the bindings were for his protection because he still had much difficulty controlling his powers. As a gesture of good faith, Shinou offered to give up his right to marry Rufus in exchange for Elberich's cooperation."

It was a desperate effort by Shinou. Murata remembered Shinou telling him of the ripples of blue energy coming off of Elberich's body ready to destroy anything he touched. It was out of fear that Shinou hastily gave up his engagement to Rufus, knowing that it was the one thing that would stop Elberich from turning against their people.

"Elberich and Rufus had been in love for years…but because of their bloodlines, they could never marry. Sebastian set up the engagement to get the volatile fire tribe under his rule, but he didn't count on Rufus falling for the wrong son. Shinou told Elberich that the witches were doing it only to make sure his powers didn't get out of control. To prove his sincerity, he offered Rufus to Elberich and even promised to bless their union."

For the first time, Murata had seen Elberich smile when he was told the news. Elberich and Murata had bonded over their half-breed status and formed a tentative friendship. Murata had felt joy for his troubled friend and the two men had talked of wedding plans and a suitable gift for Elberich's new bride. It was the only time Elberich had known true happiness.

"It worked for a while…until the battle of Chicane. Chicane was a stronghold and center of operations for the humans. But it was a port town populated by merchants, immigrants and the largest population of half-breeds. It was the last place the demons needed to capture before they would crush the human armies. All they needed was Elberich."

Chicane had been so beautiful during its prime. It was the largest port city that sat right on the border between the demon and human lands. The humans and demons had been fighting over the town for months, ending in an impasse as neither had been able to wrench control from the other for long. Elberich was the demon army's ace in the hole.

"Elberich refused of course. He had grown resentful of the way he was being used. Not even the promise of marrying the woman he loved could sate him. However, he didn't count on his handlers knowing his weakness. Black esoteric stones. Rufus told us his weakness…I procured the black stones myself and forged a collar out of them. Rufus drugged Elberich and we slipped it on and placed a binding spell on it and set him loose on Chicane."

Murata let out a dry sob. That had been one of the very worst things he had done in all his reincarnations. Nothing could ever top that callous way he betrayed one of his own by placing the collar around Elberich and then adding insult to injury by placing a binding spell on it, destroying any hope Elberich had of fighting.

"It was a slaughter… Not a single soul was left alive. Bodies and limbs were strewn everywhere in Elberich's wake. The city streets were flooded with blood and water. When he awoke, Elberich was distraught and furious."

Murata shuddered at the horrific memory.

"He turned on us. He escaped somehow and ran to the humans, who were glad to take him in. For days we fought the humans and Elberich on the great plain where the capital now stands. Elberich's hatred and anger fueled his power and we would have all died if Rufus had not tricked Elberich into telling her how to seal his power."

Murata's feelings were ambivalent towards the Bielefeld woman. Rufus had seemed to love Elberich as much as he loved her. And yet, it was with a cold expression that she told them the spell needed to bind Elberich's power for good. He supposed it was because of her duties to her family and people that she did it. But Murata couldn't let it simply be that. There was no lie in her eyes when he heard her tell Elberich that she loved him. Perhaps she was that good of an actress.

"That is how we created the Forbidden Boxes. They were used to seal Elberich's power. He had become Soushou, our blood enemy. After his power had been sealed away, Elberich was put on trial. He was found guilty and given the worst sentence possible for his crimes – an eternity in the oubliette."

When the sentence for Elberich's crimes had been announced, the vengeful crowd erupted into howls of protest and joy. Some had wanted Elberich to be publicly executed so they could share in the punishment, while others thought that a sentence of solitude and starvation would be a wonderful death for such a traitor and monster. Except for those closest to Elberich…Shinou and Rufus had sat on their makeshift thrones looking miserable and grim…Rufus even shed her normal stoic expression to break down into silent tears as she watched the guards drag away her former lover to his fate. That was the last time any of them saw Elberich.

"When Shinou became the Demon King, he knew the seal on the boxes was temporary and that a king of his caliber would be needed to defeat Soushou for good. So he devised the idea to create the perfect successor…by using a piece of his brother's spirit and a pure soul to temper any remaining dark influence of Soushou's power that would be present in Elberich's aura."

Murata met the stunned gazes of his audience steadfastly. "That is how Yuuri came to be…He was created from half of Elberich's soul and half of Julia's soul, then Shinou gave him access to Elberich's power over water…We thought that he had created fail-safes to prevent Yuuri from ever obtaining the dark powers that Elberich had….it seems that wasn't the case."

"I have read of something like this before," Gilbert spoke for the first time after listening in silence to Murata's story. "Under my mentor, I was made to study the dark arts for my own knowledge. It sounds like Shinou used a spell that creates an artificial soul from parts of two other souls. It's a type of necromancy…"

Murata nodded. "The witches taught it to him. I was hesitant to use such magic, but Shinou was the new Demon King and I could only protest so much. He was adamant. After he created Yuuri, he had the spellbooks burned and the witches blinded so such magic could never be repeated."

"What does that make Yuuri?"

Eveyrone turned to the youngest prince still seated on his cot. The young Bielefeld's eyes were ablaze with outrage and disbelief at what he had just heard.

"What exactly is my fiancé?" Wolfram demanded angrily, clutching at the sheets pooled around him. "Are you saying that he is just some lifeless doll – some base creature that should never had existed?"

Wolfram was obviously distraught at the news and Murata's heart broke for him. The sage had hoped that Yuuri would eventually develop his own soul – a perfect fusion of Julia and Elberich without the darkness, and be able to fulfill his own life.

With a heavy sigh, Murata explained the tragedy of Yuuri's existence.

"Yuuri is – in simplest of terms – a being with his own mind and body, but no soul. The Yuuri that we all now is just a homunculus made to act as host and guardian of the body that Elberich's spirit resides in until the spirit itself emerges. That is Yuuri's Maou form. 'Yuuri Shibuya' doesn't really exist."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram's mind was inundated with a thousand thoughts and emotions. The only coherent thought he could grasp was 'no, no, no!'

Yuuri didn't exist. Yuuri wasn't a real person. Yuuri didn't have a soul.

Lies!

And yet, in some grotesque way it made sense. It explained so much. Yuuri's amnesia after using his magic, his unexplainable inability to use his powers outside of his Maou form, the single-minded destructiveness the Maou used when fighting for "justice." A crazed Yuuri calling him Rufus. It finally made sense!

But it wasn't true! It just couldn't be! Not Yuuri, not Wolfram's Yuuri.

There was no way Yuuri could not have a soul. How could a soulless being be so kind, so naïve, so gentle and sweet? There was no way a lifeless doll could have captured Wolfram's jaded heart so easily.

All the memories they had together. All the things Yuuri had accomplished. He was the only Demon King to ever make a stand for peace between humans and demons, he bridged so many gaps between the two nations, made so many allies from enemies that it would be impossible for him to not be a fully formed being. A soulless creature could never accomplish those things.

The way Yuuri smiled, the way he laughed, the way he could never really learn to dance right….there was no way he could be a homunculus!

Wolfram's knowledge of the homunculus was rudimentary. They were figures in mythology, the main antagonists of fairytales who would steal souls or children so that they could become human. They were known to rape young women in the night and steal the infants they fathered. They placed curses on travelers who failed to pay tribute to them for safe passage. They were sometimes mischievous, and sometimes evil, and sometimes murderous.

Yuuri was none of those things. He was kind, compassionate, and fair. All who knew him loved him – Wolfram most of all.

"_Yuuri Shibuya doesn't really exist."_

"That's not true!" Wolfram exclaimed, breaking the heavy quiet that had settled around them as they tried to absorb this new revelation. "It can't be true."

The sage regarded Wolfram with pity, which only made the young demon angrier.

"I am sorry, Lord Bielefeld," Murata whispered. "It was believed that Yuuri would have his own soul eventually as he grew into the Demon King…We didn't know at the time that his other half would be corrupted."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Wolfram snapped, voice cracking from emotion. "Yuuri does exist! He always has! Homunculi are evil creatures used to scare naughty children. Yuuri has been the king for three years and accomplished so much _without _the Maou. There is no way that he could merely be a half-formed being. He is more than that!"

"Wolfram is right," Conrad spoke up, looking just as upset as his brother. "You can't tell us that King Yuuri is a homunculus! Not after what he's done for us and for this kingdom. That simply can't be true!"

"Our sweet King," Gunter added. "Is not some lifeless puppet! He has changed our lives for the better. He has shown great strength and commitment to our kingdom. A nonexistent thing could never do that!"

"I understand where you're all coming from," Murata said gently. "But I regret to inform you that what I say is true. A homunculus created through necromancy and soul-splicing can function as a normal human being for a time. Even create relationships and have a career. However, it would eventually begin to break down and cease to function properly."

"It can't be right!" Wolfram said stubbornly. "It…just can't be! So what are to do then? Are we supposed to just let Yuuri die because Yuuri was never here?"

"Whether the king lives or dies is inconsequential," Gilbert said. "The entity will still have control over the body. The goal right now is to drive the entity out and take away its control over Yuuri's powers."

"I will not let you kill my fiancé just because you think he doesn't exist!" Wolfram hissed.

"Unfortunately, your Excellency, that may be the only option," Gilbert said grimly. "I know that the king is precious to all of you. I will do all I can to see if his essence can be preserved."

"Then what would you have us do then?" Gwendal asked, the only one who managed to remain stoic throughout the entire exchange.

"The entity will have to be exorcised," Gilbert clarified. "We must find a way to extract it from the body and send it back to whence it came. Spirits cannot be killed because they are already dead. We can only send it back to the depths."

"And how will you do this?" Gwendal asked.

Gilbert thought for a moment. "Because Yuuri's doesn't have his own soul to naturally weaken the entity, we will have to find another way to remove it. This could take days to complete and if it proves that the entity's grasp is too strong, we may have to exorcise Yuuri's conscience and Julia's soul as well."

"That's the same as killing him!" Wolfram shouted.

"That is the worst case scenario, your Excellency. I will try to exorcise the entity without sacrificing Yuuri's conscience…however, even if that is successful, I cannot say what condition the king will be in mentally or physically when I am done."

"What do you mean?" Wolfram asked, though dreading the answer.

"Based on what the sage has just told us, if the souls of Elberich and Julia are removed then all that remains is the homunculus. If Julia was used to create Yuuri's goodness to combat Elberich's evil, then the king might very well be a homunculus in the truest sense; a being with no emotion, no memories, no conscience, no sense of right or wrong. A mindless puppet."

Helpless, Wolfram looked to his brothers for guidance, but found none. Conrad and Gwendal had matching expressions of disbelief and sadness. Gunter looked to be on the verge of tears. Murata looked downtrodden and resolute, possibly the only one willing to accept that they would lose the most important person in their lives. His so far silent uncle just looked confused. Marko just looked indignant, but morbidly interested. That left Wolfram with nothing.

'Yuuri….it's not true….' Wolfram thought sadly 'I know you're real…they're wrong. I know they're wrong!'

"What needs to be done?" Gwendal's voice jolted Wolfram out of his grief.

"I must begin the preparations," Gilbert replied. "There is much that must be done to ensure the safety of everyone. The spirit must be contained and unable to jump into another body during the ritual. We must also ensure that there are no objects that the entity can use as weapons."

"There is an old storage room on the third floor that can be cleared," Gwendal said.

"That will suffice nicely," Gilbert said. "Prepare to have the king relocated to that room and make sure that he is bound tightly. When you have completed that, I have some charms and rituals you must complete to ensure that the entity does not try to possess one of you in desperation."

Gilbert turned his attention to Wolfram. "I am sorry, your Excellency, but I must ask that you not attend the exorcism."

Wolfram was incensed. "What? I have to be there for Yuuri! You can't order me out!"

"I do this for your own safety, your Excellency," Gilbert said. "You are the closest person to the king and the entity has targeted you. In your weakened physical and emotional state, the entity may try to possess you first if we manage to expel it."

"But-but!" Wolfram stammered.

"Listen to him, nephew," Waltorana chided him, speaking for the first time after an uncharacteristic silence, inadvertently reminding everyone that he was still in the room.

"But, Uncle!" Wolfram nearly whined.

"Hush!" Waltorana barked. "You are injured and obviously too distressed to be of any use. If this so-called entity used Yuuri's voice and manner to sway you, it would!"

"You don't even believe in ghosts!" Wolfram protested.

"I believe in knowing when something is beyond my understanding and letting others handle it," Waltorana replied evenly. "I remain a skeptic…but if all options have been exhausted then I don't see any other choice. My primary concern is your safety."

"There may be some hope," Gilbert offered, taking sympathy with the young lord. "Yuuri may be able to pull through if his will is strong enough. The fact that he was able to temporarily overcome the entity shows that he is someone of remarkable will. It could save him in the end."

"Are you certain?" Wolfram asked daring to hope. "Can Yuuri be saved?"

"We can try to help Yuuri from our end….but he must make the journey back from where Elberich sent him on his own."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Marko sat in incredulity at the events unfolding before him. All his research and expertise meant nothing now, rendered obsolete by that madman!

It was with grudging acceptance that Marko realized that his time as the voice of reason for these gullible royals was over. He hated to see them led, like so many before them, by a soothsayer's fairytales and superstitions.

Marko sat back in his seat, defeated. It was of no use now. They would follow Gilbert to their deaths and destroy any hope of re-stabilizing their kingdom. Marko wondered if they ever stopped to think about what they were doing to the kingdom and its people.

Probably not. It was clear to Marko that their loyalty to their king was born out of genuine love and not just duty. Marko had to wonder what King Yuuri had done to win such blind adulation from his retainers. It was remarkable.

Every case he had researched had ended the same…with a terrible death and an innocent person condemned to isolation for the rest of their lives.

Gilbert stood among the retainers discussing their next course of action concerning this exorcism. Marko tried not to scoff at his nephew's shenanigans. So much like his father that is was disturbing.

Marko and Gilbert kept the nature of their relationship a secret. Marko wanted to association with that crazed half-breed and Gilbert reckoned that he had no living family members after the death of his parents.

Gilbert had been the son of Marko's colleague and brother Gerald, also a military doctor and researcher who worked alongside Marko during the War. They had been researching half-breeds for years when Gilbert suddenly began to show symptoms of the change. Marko and Gerald had been surprised, intrigued, and a little worried for the boy and were eager to study this new subject.

But things quickly went sour. Gilbert grew more violent and volatile as the weeks wore on and his condition worsened. Gerald went from objective scientist to paranoid father as he did everything he could to save his son and protect him from the increasingly angry authorities.

Marko had wanted to end Gilbert's misery and save their family from further suffering, but Gerald wouldn't hear of it, He created new and stronger drugs to help Gilbert with the transformation to no avail. Gerald exhausted all his money and resources to help the child, but nothing good ever came of his efforts.

The end came when Gerald came to Marko with a local soothsayer, a crunchy old woman dressed in garish colors who claimed that the boy was possessed by evil spirits and that an exorcism was needed to cleanse him.

Marko had been against it from the beginning. It was preposterous and went against everything he and Gerald stood for as doctors. But try as he may, Gerald – desperate and hopeless – ignored his brother's reason and allowed the women to perform her pagan rituals on the child.

As he had predicted, the exorcism ended in tragedy. During the woman's heathen chanting, Gilbert escaped his bonds and set fire to the house and their village, killing the soothsayer, his parents and anyone unlucky enough to be in the house. Marko had been standing in the vestibule and was the only one able to escape, but he never forgot looking up at the top of the stairs to see his nephew covered in soot and screaming in a guttural tongue as the flames swirled around him.

Marko wouldn't see Gilbert again for ten years until they were both inexplicably dawn to the Demon King. Marko had sensed that the boy would be coming soon behind him. Though he hated gilbert and everything he stood for, he had kept an eye on the young man's progress over the years until he lost trace of him two years ago.

Marko told himself that he followed Gilbert because he didn't want the young man to go insane again and kill more people, he told himself that he wanted to see how a Verschmelzung would adapt to life after the change. A small part of him followed Gilbert because he was the only family Marko had left.

"Marko."

Marko reluctantly regarded his nephew. He realized that they were the only two left in the room. Even young Lord Bielefeld had been removed from the room, perhaps to safer quarters far away from the king.

"You are making a mistake," Marko whispered vehemently to the other man.

"It is the only way," Gilbert said simply.

"This is a repeat of what happened all those years ago!" Marko exclaimed. "You will get them all killed! If you take the King off his medication like your father did for you, then there is nothing suppressing his power! He will destroy us and this castle!"

"King Yuuri is not like me, uncle," Gilbert said sternly. "I was weak and didn't have nearly the power of will that the king has. I believe that there may be a chance this can end happily."

"Is that what you're putting your faith in? The hope that the king simply has to _want_ hard enough to dispel this spirit you speak of?" Marko said incredulously.

"Yes," Gilbert said without hesitation.

"Then you are as foolish as your father," Marko sneered. "You will drag them down to the depths with your superstitions and this kingdom will truly be lost."

"Then what will you have us do, Marko?"

"What would I have you do?" Marko repeated with a scoff. "I would have you poison him. Give him a painless and dignified death. Let him pass into the next life in peace and allow them to repair their torn kingdom. Not chase after invisible ghosts and sprinkle magic water on their heads!"

"Uncle Marko," Gilbert said emphatically. "That is why I need your help."

Marko let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Why would any of you want my help? I've been cast as the villain from the start. The evil, mad doctor who wants to harm the poor innocent king! How could I possibly be of service to you?"

"You wouldn't have that problem if you learned good bedside manner," Gilbert commented offhandedly.

"Don't patronize me, boy!" Marko spat.

"The fact remains that you are needed. Someone has to look after the king's body and make sure that Elberich doesn't try to do it harm in order to stop us. I may also have need of your healing magic. I don't have enough magic to fight the creature myself. I need everyone to participate."

Marko stared out the window for a long time. Then, something inside him broke and he slumped into his seat and threw up his arms in defeat.

"Very well!" He said irritably. "I will help you. But, do not expect me to follow your doctrine of ghosts!"

Gilbert gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Marko. I truly appreciate it."

"Let us hope that you are right, Gilbert. Otherwise, I will not hesitate to say I told you so!"

"Very well," Gilbert said quietly. "And Marko?"

"What?" the doctor said impatiently.

"I am sorry for any pain I caused you," Gilbert said. "I know you and my father were close. I can only imagine what you've been through."

"Save it," Marko interrupted Gilbert. "I am as I've always been; a man of science and facts – and a grouchy old fart. Nothing more. But I know when I'm at a loss. So go ahead, perform your exorcism and may it be the answer they are looking for."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram winced in pain as the servants eased him down onto the soft bed in his uncle's quarters. It was decided that he would stay in his uncle's rooms until the ritual was over. Waltorana, surprisingly, had been asked by Gilbert to participate in the ritual citing his strong magic that "could prove useful."

"This is certainly a disturbing turn of events…"

Waltorana sat down on a large chair beside his nephew, looking pensive and grim.

"It is…" Wolfram had to agree.

"And yet, it sheds light on a lot of questions I had…"

"What do you mean?" Wolfram asked.

Waltorana shrugged noncommittally. "I had always noticed that there was something off about the king. He didn't seem to connect to the outside world the way a normal person would."

"You're not making any sense, Uncle," Wolfram said. "Yuuri makes friends everywhere he goes. He relates to the people in his world quite easily."

"Yes, he does," Waltorana agreed. "Almost too easily…"

"I don't understand."

"Think about it," Waltorana began. "For someone born in a different world, who never grew up in Shin Makoku, King Yuuri adapted to his new role as king rather easily don't you say?"

"Yes, because he was destined to rule the kingdom," Wolfram wasn't following. This was common knowledge among the aristocrats. The only ones who didn't know were the common folk.

"But, wouldn't a person born in another world be hesitant, maybe even against becoming ruler of such a vast land? "

"Yuuri did struggle his first years, but he adjusted in time," Wolfram countered.

"That's not just it," Waltorana pressed. "There was something off about him…like he was never quite there. He was far too selfless. Almost like he had no perception of his own desires."

"That's just how Yuuri is!" Wolfram was becoming irritated with his uncle's musings.

"But a young man in his prime, Wolfram!" Waltorana exclaimed, having come across some great epiphany. "He had no selfish desires! You mean to tell me that a young man of eighteen had no interest for carnal pleasures? No desire for a mate or even just sexual gratification?"

"Because Shinou made Yuuri to be pure of heart!"

"Don't be so naïve, Wolfram!" Waltorana said vehemently. "Yuuri is still - was, really - a healthy young man. You mean to tell me he had no such desires? On top of that, he seemed detached from his surroundings. No displays of anger, jealousy, vengeance, or even the slightest hint of greed or ambition! The only time he ever displayed any passion was when he allowed his Maou form to overtake him. I could describe him as cheerfully apathetic in his personal life."

Wolfram gripped the sheets in his hands. It did make sense. Despite his kindness and compassion, there was something about Yuuri that was always disinterested in his environment. Outside of his Maou form, Yuuri never showed any real passion. Oh he cared for people and his friends….but it never seemed to go deeper than platonic feelings. Even the beautiful women that Wolfram was so sure would steal Yuuri from him, only ever got a nervous glance thrown their way, despite Yuuri's insistence that he was only attracted to females. His insistence had seemed almost _forced_ at times.

"That would explain his ability to resist your charms," Waltorana said, giving his nephew a once-over. "There have been plenty of men who swore they only desired females and all it took was a coy look from you and they were putty in your hands."

Wolfram remembered those days. Before Yuuri came to Shin Makoku, Wolfram would often serve as a wingman to his uncle's political schemes. Wolfram would be sent in to charm and seduce Waltorana's potential business partners – or their sons and daughters, all while carefully keeping his valuable chastity intact for bigger fish. Wolfram hated it and was glad when he moved to Blood Pledge to be with his brothers and complete his military training.

"Yuuri is and never will be some soulless homunculus," Wolfram asserted. "He has his own mind, his own body and his own _soul!_ No one can tell me otherwise! Yuuri is still there, I know it! If we give up on him, then he truly is dead."

They were interrupted by three knocks on the door. Waltorana opened the door to a young servant girl.

"Good evening, your Excellencies," The girl said with a curtsy. "I have brought some things for you from Lord Cocteau. He says you must use them in order to protect yourself during the ritual."

The servant presented a tray laden with two charms, a note, and two long strips of paper with strange calligraphy in blood red ink.

"Thank you," said Waltorana, taking the tray. "You are dismissed."

The servant curtsied and left quickly, shutting the doro behind her.

"What is it, Uncle?" Wolfram asked. Craning to see the objects on the tray.

Waltorana took the accompanying note and scanned its contents.

"Cocteau says to for us to wear these charms and place the paper talismans under our clothes and over our hearts as protection against Elberich."

Wolfram was skeptical. "Will that work?"

"We will see…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

_October 8, 947_

_The spell has been cast and yet I am still in shock at Shinou's actions! He has used the dark art of necromancy to preserve his brother's soul! But he's done it in the most obscene of ways!_

_Shinou has taken the witches' premonitions to heart and managed to create for himself the perfect successor! They claimed that one day, Elberich's malice would threaten our descendants in the future so he had created the perfect heir…and weapon._

_Shinou has created a being that will have two halves of two different souls and one body. He has extracted the goodness that remained in Elberich and part of the soul of some unnamed person, and combined them to create a separate being altogether. This being, he told me, will have the immense power of Elberich, but will be innocent, pure of heart, and incorruptible._

_To ensure this, Shinou has made it so that certain emotions that can lead to corruption have been suppressed or removed. The being will not have the ability to feel lust, jealousy, hatred, prejudice, or any of the darker sides of humanity. Such emotions will be channeled into the power of Elberich's soul._

_I cannot help but feel some apprehension toward this. Yes, theoretically, a being that is free of earthly desires would make an ideal ruler…but it is also the darker parts of human nature…the parts that drive us and shape us…that make a ruler what he is. It is the ability to overcome darkness that strengthens us._

_The being that will act as host to the body will be unable to grow and learn new emotions. It will only be able to feel and think what Shinou has allowed it to feel and think. It will be remain innocent until its death or until the two halves merge – if they do at all. Whatever the case, this creation will be doomed to be an incomplete being._

_I hope he heeded the warnings of the witches. But I seriously doubt it. The witches explicitly warned Shinou that the homunculus could malfunction and die prematurely or go rogue. But as usual, he regards such warnings with his same irritating nonchalance._

_I almost feel sorry for this creature. Its existence will be a tragic abomination. It will never be able to experience love or true intimacy with another being. For such things require desire and Shinou believes that for it to have desire will be the cause of corruption. It will be completely alien to other beings. _

_Shinou has also ordered to have the spellbooks destroyed so that such a creature can never be made again. I find this rather hypocritical for apparently Shinou is the only one noble enough to use such a spell and yet, I would rather he destroy it than keep it around for fairness' sake. _

_But what about the people the homunculus will be in contact with? Surely they deserve to know exactly what this thing is. What happens if he malfunctions or the unnamed soul is unable to temper Elberich's wrath? God forbid should anyone have feelings for this thing. They will surely be disappointed. Is it wise to make such a thing a potential successor to the throne?_

_Shinou assures me that the homunculus will have many allies and "retainers" that will serve as his conscience. He jokingly said that he would even create a "little friend" for the creature to keep him company. I find this appalling. Shinou is obviously following in the footsteps of his father when it comes to having shameless arrogance and a god complex._

_Shinou has conducted this obscene magic in lieu of preparing for his nuptials. Yes, he reinstated his engagement to Rufus von Bielefeld not a month after imprisoning his brother in the oubliette. She accepted his slap with morose finality, not even trying to feign happiness, though her clan was happy and relieved that she wasn't the "spoiled goods" they thought she was for fornicating with a half-breed madman. Between you and me, I think she found out that she is pregnant with Elberich's child and Shinou, out of sympathy, has agreed to marry her and be the child's father. I pray to every god - human and demon - that the child is blessed with blonde hair and green eyes!_

_I have no idea what Shinou is planning. I am beginning to believe that Elberich's madness is hereditary and Shinou is beginning to display his own insanity by creating banal creatures gifted with terrible power and making them rulers of a kingdom that hasn't even been fully formed yet!_

_I pray that Shinou has been gifted with the ability of foresight and knows something that I do not! If it's just another one of his hackneyed schemes, then I am glad that I won't be alive when his plans come to fruition!_

_This is written in my own hand,_

_Plato Daikenja_

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Whew! Chapter Eighteen, everybody!

Wow, this has never happened! Two updates within a single month! I guess I'm trying to make up for all the long waits.

Wow, did Murata drop the ball or what? And what do you think of Marko and Gilbert now? They are probably the most enigmatic characters of this entire story.

This is actually the point of THYS. I wrote it as an exploration of Yuuri's character, mainly the circumstances surrounding his creation by Shinou and what his Maou side actually is. I'm curious to know what you all think of this.

FUN FACTS!

Elberich – Old German name meaning "King of Spirits." – see what I did there?

Homunculus – a small humanoid being created from clay or other matter used in alchemy. Can be given its own mind…but remains soulless. Usually created to be servants. Also, they are used in philosophy to understand the human mind and conscience. At least, that's the gist of what I read on Wikipedia.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, the plot will move much faster. I would estimate there to be maybe 3-4 chapters left in this story.

Also, I have decided to hold a Question and Answer segment at the end of this story. I've gotten a lot of great feedback from readers, but also a lot of questions too that I haven't been able to answer for fear of spoilers.

So what are some burning questions about this story that are just eating away at your mind? I'd be happy to answer them in the credits of this fan fiction!

As always, please review and Happy New Year!

Love, EB


	20. Chapter 20 -The Twenty-Sixth Day Part4

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 19

Thank you everyone for reading my little fic. This has gone beyond what I expected and it's all thanks to you. Please enjoy.

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The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 19 – Fate - The Twenty Seventh Day

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The ferryman snorted awake when he heard a soft rustling noise to his right. He peeked up with bleary eyes to find himself alone in his small boat, still waiting for his next passengers to the next life.

There was nothing but thick fog around him. That was to be expected. The world between worlds was indistinguishable. It had no trees, no buildings, no animals, no nothing. It was just a murky half-way world that all dead souls had to navigate and eventually find this river, the only distinct feature of this world, that would take them to where they belonged.

The ferryman sighed and settled back onto his perch to sleep another hour or so until he had to work. He hated being interrupted for no reason. His job was mundane and irritating enough without being spooked by unseen creatures. If someone wanted a ride then they needed to come forward like a man and ask him for one.

The rustling noise started up again. This time, it sounded a little bit closer, though distance was a fallacy in a place where time and space didn't exist. With an annoyed huff, the ferryman sat up straight and peered into the heavy mist.

"Whoever's out there needs to come forward!" He shouted. "If you need a ride then just get in! I don't have the patience for your shyness!"

The rustling stopped for a second as if contemplating the ferryman's words before a lone figure morphed out of the fog.

The ferryman was taken aback. He had never seen a soul like this before…if it even was a soul. He really didn't know what to call it. It looked nothing like the souls he escorted.

He couldn't tell if it was male or female, though if he had to guess, he would say a skinny male. It was completely hairless, totally white, and naked. It had no genitalia from what he could see and only the barest minimum of what could be defined as facial features. It had two beady dots for eyes, and only two slits for a nose. It had no lips, only a thin line for a mouth.

The only thing that could be said for this strange creature was that it gave a sense of being lost and incredibly scared.

"What in the hell are you?" The ferryman demanded.

The creature jumped at the harsh words and stammered for a minute.

"Speak up!" The ferryman barked, not liking that he didn't know what this thing was or what it wanted.

In a voice as genderless and inhuman as its appearance, the creature finally spoke.

"I-I don't know….I'm lost…"

"Where did you come from?" The ferryman asked.

"I…don't know…" The creature muttered timidly. "Who…are you…?"

"I'm the ferryman," he replied cautiously. " I escort the dead to their final resting place."

The creature thought for a moment. "I…think I'm dead…"

"You think or you know?" The ferryman questioned. "Those are two very different things. I can't take someone who's not completely dead to the afterlife."

"Then, I'm pretty sure I'm dead," said the creature. "Then why would I be here?"

"I dunno," The ferryman shrugged. This was turning out to be an unusual day, even for him. "I've never seen a thing like you around here before – not in a millennia."

"Do you know what I am?" The creature asked, sounding slightly hopeful.

The ferryman frowned in contemplation. "You look like something I may have seen thousands of years ago – but I can't quite place it…"

The creature looked sad – as much as a creature with no real face could. "What should I do?"

"Do you have a name?" Maybe he could determine what the thing was if it had a name.

Sadly, the creature shook its head. "I don't remember…I think I had one, but I don't know it anymore."

The ferryman huffed in irritation. "Well, that's just no good!" All the souls remembered their names! At least, the normal ones did.

"I'm sorry…" the creature whimpered and backed away from the ferryman.

Impatiently, the ferryman gestured for the creature to come forward. He thought for a moment. He couldn't bring the creature to Paradise or Damnation since neither he nor it knew its past sins or virtues. And his masters made it very clear that they would not tolerate the condemnation or exaltation of an undeserving soul.

An idea came to him. He motioned for the creature to enter the small boat.

"Here's a thought! I can take you to my masters. They will be able to tell you what you are and hopefully, where you need to go." The ferryman smiled at his clever idea.

The creature smiled in relief. The sight was disturbing to the ferryman. "Oh, thank you!"

"Don't mention it," said the ferryman, moving aside so the creature could lower itself into the boat. He shoved off the grey shore and allowed the small craft to float along the gentle current of the river.

"Who are your masters?" asked the creature after they had been drifting along for a while.

"The twin gods of death," answered the ferryman reverently. " Samael and Sariel. They decide who is sent to Paradise and who is sent to Damnation. They know all there is to know about the lives of humans and demons – and everything in between. They will know what to do with you. You will meet one or the other depending on your vices and virtues."

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Wolfram's old bedroom had been turned into a safe haven from evil spirits.

Gilbert had taken special care to line the walls with the paper talismans, placing several in some arcane shape on the door. A line of salt was laid before the threshold to block out "negative energy", strongly scented incense burned in a shallow dish by the bed. The room was bathed in a reddish light from the red strips of paper covering the windows, and door. Gilbert told Wolfram that though the reasons were unclear, spirits disliked the color red and avoided it at all costs. Thus, they were all instructed to wear something red underneath their clothes. "As an extra precaution."

This caused a bit of a predicament as Wolfram never wore the color red. He almost exclusively wore the sky blue and gold colors of his family and he rarely changed it. But Yozak, believe it or not, had a silk red undershirt that he gave to Wolfram to borrow.

Wolfram fought the nauseating anxiety growing in his gut. It had been nearly four hours since Gilbert and Murata had revealed the biggest secret ever kept in Shin Makoku's history and Gilbert hastily began the preparations for the ritual that would mean life or death for Yuuri and their home.

The food sat untouched next to Wolfram's bed. He had no appetite for anything, he only sipped at a glass of water to keep the dry tight lump in his throat from suffocating him.

His wounds throbbed numbly in their bandages, the only thing keeping him grounded to reality. The bed he sat in was cold and scratchy – though it may have just been his own restlessness making him feel that way – and he wanted nothing more than to get up and run to the west wing where they took Yuuri.

Moving Yuuri from his chamber had been just as difficult and nightmarish as they thought it would be. Wolfram shuddered at the sight of his fiancé screaming and biting at anything that came near him. Yuuri was unrecognizable and was nothing more than a rabid animal.

And yet, despite this, Wolfram was still filled with the need to see his fiancé one last time. He had to be there to support Yuuri, to encourage him, and touch him. He wanted to be the anchor that held Yuuri in their world and save him from Elberich's curse.

Wolfram was still reeling over the truth of Yuuri's nature. It was impossible that their king was nothing more than some instrument created by their ancestor to protect Shin Makoku. A living puppet pre-conditioned to fulfill a certain purpose and nothing more. It grieved Wolfram that someone as sweet as Yuuri could not have control over his own life.

Wolfram felt a swell of pity for Yuuri. He wondered if they would be able to even rescue him…and if they did would it be the same Yuuri?

Wolfram shook his head of the thought. 'Of course, he will be! Yuuri is his own person. He will come back to me, I know it."

And yet, there was doubt in the young demon lord's mind. Gilbert and Marko, though much different in their philosophies, basically said the same thing; that Yuuri was likely lost to them forever and now it was just a matter of ridding themselves of this spectre that inhabited Yuuri's body.

A knock on the door was Wolfram's only warning before his adopted daughter threw herself onto the bed in distress, and clinging to his waist as she babbled incoherently.

"Papa Wolfram!" She cried out several times, sounding on the verge of sobbing. "I'm scared. What's happening to Daddy Yuuri?"

Wolfram gathered the child into his arms, wincing at the shock of pain from his very bruised torso. He had insisted that Greta be brought to him and that she stay in his room during the exorcism. He didn't know if it would aid in her protection, but it brought him comfort that he had his daughter with him and under his supervision.

All other inhabitants of the castle had been ordered to stay in their rooms. The great halls of the palace were suffocating in their silence since becoming devoid of all life. The only sound to be heard was of the increasingly harsh rainfall just outside the massive windows. Greta's handmaidens were also sequestered into their quarters, leaving the young princess under her father's care for the time being.

"Greta, Yuuri is very sick and they are going to try and cure him," Wolfram explained as simply as he could. He doubted the appropriateness of giving all the details to his young daughter. He didn't think she would be able to understand – in reality, he barely understood it, so he thought it best to simply echo what everyone had been telling her.

"What's wrong with him?" Greta whimpered into his chest. "What are they going to do?"

"They are going to perform some ritual, " Wolfram replied. "It's supposed to get rid of his affliction and he will be better very soon."

"Are you sure?" Greta said skeptically, "That's what Gwendal and Conrad told me…but Yuuri hasn't been getting better. They stopped letting me visit him even though I brought him treats to make him feel better. How can he get better if they keep him locked up all the time?"

"You knew about that?" Wolfram asked in surprise.

Greta nodded sadly. "They told me a few days ago that I couldn't visit Yuuri anymore!"

Wolfram hugged his daughter closer. "I'm sorry, Greta. But I promise you, it will all be better after tonight. Once the ritual is complete, Yuuri will be back to normal."

Greta looked up with huge, sad eyes. "Really?"

"Really, Greta." Wolfram surprised himself with how confident he sounded. Gilbert's warning still hung heavy over him and he questioned his quick and weak answer.

He felt that he should prepare himself for life as a single father.

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Marko, Gwendal, Conrad, Gunter, Waltorana, Murata, Alphonse, and Gilbert were gathered in the empty storage room with a bound and drugged Yuuri propped up in a flimsy chair. The six men watched as Gilbert carefully laid out his tools – an array of indiscernible charms, medallions, and talismans. Gilbert had covered the room's only entrance to block the entity from escaping, though it remained unclear if this would actually work. Gilbert told them that the spirit permeated everything that had been touched by Yuuri's power, therefore designating a place as safe was relative.

Gilbert had carefully explained the plan to them. He would try to draw out the spirit from Yuuri, who was acting as the spectre's shield and source of energy. They would stand to the side and lend their demon magic to subdue the spectre once it made itself present. Marko would act as physician and make sure that the king's body didn't sustain any damage. The door was to be kept locked until the ritual was completed. The goal was to weaken the spirit enough for Yuuri's "will" to regain control.

But the plan was inherently flawed. It hinged on the hope that Yuuri, their Yuuri, was alive and still present in his body. However, they didn't have much of a choice.

Gilbert carefully laid out a large circle of salt, a natural deterrent against dark powers, around Yuuri while muttering some pagan prayer under his breath. Yuuri barely stirred at the man's proximity, but his blank stare was fixated on the man's movements, irises flittering back and forth every time Gilbert moved around him.

Gilbert straightened up with a tired sigh and addressed his companions.

"The ritual is straightforward. We know what the entity desires and that its to seek revenge. We must stop it and send it back to the Outer World. If the king's conscience still exists, we can give it a chance to retake control."

"What happens if it doesn't work?" Conrad asked on behalf of everyone.

Gilbert was solemn. "Then we might have to take more primitive measures to hinder the entity."

"We are not going to do anything that will cause harm to the king!" Gunter exclaimed.

"That is certainly not my goal," Gilbert explained calmly. "But with things as they are, if it comes to the worst we must be prepared for the impossible choice."

All of the men stood in hopeless silence. They were well aware of the possible outcome should they fail to rescue their king and dispose of Elberich. However, they couldn't quite accept it.

Gilbert held a small bowl of salt in one hand at the very edge of the circle he had made. His actions were illuminated by a few small candles that pierced the dark room, bathing both him and the king in an eerie orange light. Every muscle in his body was tense and the six men held their breath as they anticipated the next move.

Gilbert paused and then turned to give his witnesses very important orders.

"Listen to me," he said in a tone that left no room for protest. "The spectre will try to taunt you. It will try to manipulate your darkest fears to its advantage. It wants to anger you. It feeds off of negative energy. If it speaks to you do not ever speak back to it. Understand?"

All of them nodded. Satisfied, Gilbert turned back to the prone king.

"Let us begin," He muttered.

Gilbert addressed the spectre directly.

Yuuri appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair. He was slumped over at an uncomfortable angle, his hair masking his face from view. Only the very slight rise and fall of his back indicated that there was any life in the tormented king.

There was a heavy silence in the room before Gilbert finally began.

"We know who you are, Spectre," gilbert said in a strong, commanding voice. "We know of your suffering. We have come to send you back to the spirit world from whence you came. You have caused enough destruction and pain."

Yuuri shifted slightly in his seat, but made no move.

Gilbert continued, attempting to draw out the spirit. "The time is over for games. You have made your intent very clear. But it is over. You will return the body of the Demon King to its rightful owner and leave this world!"

This time, 'Yuuri' reacted. The frail man craned his head up to glare at Gilbert, his neck cracking loudly as every tense muscle pulled at stiff joints.

The black irises reminded Gilbert of the snakes that lived under the woodheaps in farmers' barns. The glassy, empty stare was piercing and dared him to speak again in rebellion. Here was a spirit that had known immense cruelty and would seek retribution of the crimes committed against it millennia ago.

Gilbert remained steadfast. "Where is Yuuri? Where is the king?"

The evil that was Elberich sneered. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Enough of your games! Where is the true Demon King?" Gilbert demanded fiercely.

"I am the demon king!" Elberich hissed, straining at his bonds. "That thing is a puppet!"

Gilbert sensed the sudden hostility in the others. "Be silent!" He barked at them and then returned to the spirit.

"I will ask you again, where is King Yuuri?"

Instead of answering, the spirit noticed the others and turned to them with a malicious grin.

"How does it feel to know you've been blindly following a lifeless abomination this entire time?"

"Answer the question, spectre!" Gilbert ordered.

But Elberich ignored him. "You've been following a lie. As the Demon Tribe always has!"

"Elberich!" Gilbert snapped. "Where is the King Yuuri whose body you have stolen?!"

Elberich turned his head sharply to the soothsayer. "Dead."

"That is not true!"

Gilbert turned in shock and dismay at the outburst from Lord Christ. It would not due to play into the spirit's manipulation.

"Be quiet, I said!"

Elberich only smiled. "But it is! He died the minute I stole his body. With no soul of his own, he simply dissolved into nothingness. Isn't that right, my Lord Sage?"

Murata remained still and silent under the scrutiny of the spirit. But one could see the underlying anger and fear rippling beneath the stoic surface. Murata was faced with the physical manifestation of his and Shinou's greatest sin.

"You grew attached to your little toy, did you not, Sage? Surely, you knew he wouldn't live more than couple of decades anyway."

"What is he talking about?" Now Conrad demanded, hand fiddling with the sword at his side, ready to beat the spirit out of his godson if he had to.

"Homunculi have never lived past the age of thirty," Murata mumbled, never taking his eyes off Elberich.

"Silence, all of you!" Gilbert shouted, already frustrated at the lack of regard for his instructions.

"Elberich!" Gilbert said firmly, throwing every ounce of his spiritual power into the command. "I will not ask you again!"

This time, Elberich deigned to answer the dreaded question.

"He is in the blackness," Elberich said, low and cruel. "He is in the place where all damned souls go. He had to take my place."

"Then I will send you back there and return the king!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Release his body and return to the spirit world!"

"No!" Elberich shouted. "I will have justice! I will destroy everything my brother created. I will destroy the lies he created!"

"How were you able to take Yuuri's body?" Gilbert questioned. "Your power was destroyed three years ago!"

Elberich said nothing, but snarled at Gilbert. The large chair shook as he strained against the leather straps, the only things protecting Gilbert from a painful death.

"Your king was dying," Elberich snarled. "The souls that made him were incompatible and his body was destroying itself from the inside. I entered him when he was near his death!"

"What do you speak of?" Gilbert asked, throwing a brief glance at his companions.

"His body went through the transformation. His two bloods tried to merge but his body was too weak without a soul." The spirit explained. "From the depths of hell, I sought him out through the other half of my soul and took him."

The statement insinuated a possibility that Gilbert had not thought of. It was probably the most complex case of spiritual possession that he had ever witnessed. Through the connection of Yuuri's existence, the remaining half of Elberich's soul had found its way into the world of the living and reconnected thus giving it enough power to overtake Yuuri and hijack his magic.

"You have no place here." Gilbert said. "The ones who wronged you are long dead. I thought you sympathized with the weak and innocent. Why take out your rage on the living? You should take your anger to the courts of the dead!"

"Even in death, I was robbed!" Elberich hissed. "Not even my enemies were given their due in the courts of the damned! They were sent to the halls of their ancestors and I was sent to the bowels of hell like the abomination I am!"

"When I invoke the name of Sariel," Gilbert commanded, holding his hand above the king's head. Elberich's demeanor changed from anger to confusion, and then blood rage when Gilbert named the god king of the underworld. "You will depart from this body and return to the halls of the dead where you belong!"

"I won't! I won't!" Elberich screeched. "I will kill you all!"

Gilbert continued his chant above the lunatic ramblings of the corrupt spirit. "I call upon the power of the death gods to compel thee to depart from this innocent! I beseech Sariel the Purifier to remove you from this plain and return you to your dark master!"

Elberich shrieked at the pagan prayer. The words were laden with the spiritual power of the exorcist and repulsed Elberich's dark energy. Elberich began to twist and convulse in his seat in a most grotesque manner. His bonds strained and creaked under the stress as his screams grew to drown out Gilbert's steady chanting.

The five witnesses watched in stunned silence. Their comprehension of what was occurring before them diminished even more when Gilbert's prayers dissolved into the dead language of their ancestors. Elberich returned the chants with his own violent ramblings in the ancient tongue, rocking the chair so hard that it would teeter close to falling over only to rock back hard again the floor repeatedly.

They all felt it at once. The air in the room suddenly became suffocating, as if invisible hands were slowly closing around their throats. Even Gilbert felt it and his prayers faltered. The storm outside grew in intensity and seemed as if it was forming inside the room with Elberich at the center of the maelstrom.

There was a great groan that resounded throughout the palace. It was like something was pressing in on the stone walls to crush the great fortress into the ground. The air became thick and violent as it swirled around Elberich. The men all struggled to stay upright and brave. Over the sounds of the storm, they could hear the distinct screams of the castle's inhabitants as Elberich displayed the very essence of his dark powers and summoned the ghouls that lurked beyond the living.

"Killing thousands of innocents, fighting an unjust war, the crimes thou hast commit are immeasurable and unforgivable!" Elberich spoke low and harsh. "It is was never in my nature to kill, but you made me into a monster and I will act as the animal I became. I will have justice!"

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Wolfram awoke with a start. He had been having a bad dream, but he couldn't remember what it was about. All he could recall was that it disturbed him greatly.

"Greta?" He called out groggily into the now dark room. The candles had gone out long ago, an indication of how long he had been asleep. He hadn't meant to doze off, but having his daughter safely in his arms was relaxing enough to make him fall asleep.

Wolfram looked around for his daughter. She was no longer lying next to him on the bed. He suddenly panicked and called out her name into the darkness, but received no answer.

"Greta, where are you?" He called out frantically. A terrible feeling of dread seeped into his mind as he stumbled from the bed to go after her. His panic increased when he noticed the door slightly ajar.

He grabbed a robe and stumbled out into the abandoned hallway, ignoring the ache from his wounds. The torches were unlit and the passage was completely void of life. Wolfram had to rely on his fire magic to light the way.

The small flame hovering above his open palm cast a globe of light around the fire demon. The fear grew as he felt the air shift around him. It was like he could sense someone was in the hallway with him, but they were hidden away from his view. The feeling came from all around him and only added to his panic and determination to find his daughter.

"Greta! Greta, come back!" Wolfram called out into the darkness. His voice quivered as he struggled to stay calm amidst the growing hysteria.

"Greta!"

Wolfram turned around a corner and felt immense relief when he saw his daughter standing in the middle of the hall.

"Greta, what are you doing out here?" Wolfram demanded, running up to her and turning her around to face him. Greta's face was blank and pale and her clothes were icy cold under Wolfram's hands.

"I….saw a little girl…" Greta mumbled, staring blankly at her father.

"What little girl?" Wolfram said in confusion, looking around for any other children but finding none.

"She wanted help finding something before her mom found out…so I was trying to help her find it."

"Greta, you can't just leave without telling me!" Wolfram scolded. "I was worried!"

"I'm sorry…" Greta muttered and allowed Wolfram to grab her hand to lead her back to their room.

"We need to go back to the bedroom and wait for the others," Wolfram said hurriedly, all but running with Greta back to the safety of their room.

"_Wolfram…"_

Wolfram froze. The voice of Yuuri seemed to come from behind him and everywhere at the same time. He spun around, trying to locate the owner of the voice, but he was very much alone in the dark hall.

"Yuuri?" he choked.

"_**Wolfram."**_

This time, it was a different voice that called out to him. It was grainy, deep, and menacing. Wolfram backed away and made to run, but an invisible hand grabbed his ankle and dragged him at an alarming speed down the hallway and into the inky blackness.

Wolfram frantically clawed at the floor as he was dragged down the hallway. He could hear Greta yelling and running after him, calling out for help.

The invisible entity continued to haul Wolfram down the hall, back towards one of the storage units down at the very end of the passageway.

Wolfram managed to look over to where the entity was taking him to see the door to the storage room swing wide open to reveal the empty room that looked too much like a portal into the abyss. He tried to grab at anything to stop his assailant, but it was too fast and strong.

He would never be sure, but Wolfram could swear he saw two glowing eyes peering out at him from the darkness beyond the storage room door as the entity drew him closer. Panic and the instinct for survival overtaking him, he twisted around to grab at the doorframe, effectively halting his descent into the room.

The grip on his ankles tightened painfully and tried to pull him in. Wolfram's knuckles went white with the effort to stop from being dragged under to some unknown fate. He screamed when the grip in his ankles was joined by dozens of pale hands reaching out from the room.

Wolfram was in shock. He stared ahead to see Greta staring and screaming in vain, unable to do anything to stop the attack. He locked gazes with her as he struggled to break free of their grasp. He felt the icy cold hands through his clothes and pierce his skin with their claws. He choked and gasped out Greta's name, and a command for her to run before his head was snapped back and he lost his grip.

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The sound of Gilbert's frantic chanting could be heard over the groans and screeches of the dark energy that swirled around the hapless men. In a huge wave of raw magic, all six men were thrown back several feet to collide with the walls of the room and then made to frantically dodge the zaps of energy whipping around them.

They had seen the raw power of the demon king on display in all its glory many times over course of their servitude, and they had hoped to never be on the receiving end of such destructive power. However, that was exactly where they found themselves as they ducked and dodged the blue lightening strikes that tore through the air at anyone unlucky enough to be in the way.

They all crouched to the ground in a vain attempt to shield themselves from the torrent of raw energy.

"What do we do?!" Conrad heard the scream of Waltorana from his right. He looked over to see the elder Bielefeld trying to shield himself and the frail-looking Marko in a distant corner of the room.

Conrad wished he knew. They had clearly lost control of the situation. Gilbert was still shrieking the chants, falling into an ancient tongue that none of them knew to which Elberich retorted with more incoherent ramblings and surges of magic.

Gilbert's chants, the only thing marginally suppressing Elberich's power, were suddenly silenced. They all watched in horror as the soothsayer was thrown across the room and collided violently with the wall. Gunter, being nearest to him, rushed over to help him up from where he was slumped against the floor.

"I can't dispel the spirit as long as he has control of King Yuuri's power!" Gilbert shouted, face contorted in pain and frustration.

"What should we do?" Gunter wailed over the cacophony. He looked back at where his comrades lay. Conrad and Gwendal were pinned against the walls, ducking the whips of blue light as best they could while Waltorana and Marko tried their best to mesh with the wall and stay out of Elberich's path. Young Alphonse was flush against the wall next to Conrad, trying to shield his face and eyes. The sole window to the room had burst from the de-pressurized interior and the violent storm outside raged as Elberich cackled his triumph.

In the center of it all, sat their once precious young monarch. Yuuri's body was twisted grotesquely in the seat, mouth open unnaturally wide as he screamed his blind hatred and malice. Yuuri Shibuya was beyond recognition, a twisted mass of bleeding limbs, gnashing teeth, and inky black eyes tied to a chair. Blood trickled down the armrests and legs of the seat from where the leather restraints had cut into his pallid skin. His eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets like some rabid animal hell bent on destruction. There was no rhyme or reason to his unhinged violence, only a need to demolish anything and anyone who stood in his path.

"Subdue him!"

Everyone looked to Gilbert in confusion.

"Use your magic! He has to be suppressed. I can't do it on my own!"

The message was directed to everyone, but Gilbert looked pointedly at Murata, whose look of fear changed to grim determination.

The rest were not so convinced. Though powerful magic users in their own right, they didn't come anywhere near the strength of their king. Yuuri's magic was unmatched, even the Sage couldn't stand against it for long, so how could they stand a chance? Even if they did, if they used their full powers at once, they could harm Yuuri.

"Just do it!" Gilbert's voice cut through the mayhem. "Before he kills all of us!"

"He's right!" Murata spoke up. "If we can't suppress his power then we will all perish! Saving the kingdom is more important now!"

All were silent, until Gwendal began to summon his earth magic, face trained into a stony mask that hid the conflicted feelings of the general. If it were a choice of saving one man, even if it was their king, against saving the entire kingdom, then Gwendal would be the first to make that choice for the people's sake.

Gwendal's green energy tentatively seeped up from the ground to mix with Elberich's blue energy. The green sparks collided and canceled out the weaker lightening bolts but did not go unnoticed by their enemy. Elberich turned baleful eyes to the eldest ex-prince and directed his attack accordingly.

Gwendal's earth magic was soon joined by Gunter's air magic, fighting and suppressing the indoor hurricane that Elberich had created. They were joined by Alphonse and Waltorana's fire magic and the room was a light show of colors as they tried to push back against the onslaught of Elberich's magic.

"All at once!" Gilbert shouted, standing up to resume the ritual. Their survival hinged on dispelling Elberich's spirit from this world, but they couldn't do that until they diminished his power. A task that looked more and more impossible.

Gilbert could feel the chaos erupting around them. Elberich's spiritual power created an avenue by which other spirits were escaping into their world. Beyond the locked doors he could hear the castle inhabitants struggling to run from the malevolent ghosts that had lurked beyond their notice for the past few weeks. The entire Blood Pledge Castle was under siege.

"You will not succeed here, spectre!" Gilbert's voice rang above the chaos, strong and determined, heavy with spiritual authority. "I call upon the power of the great death god Sariel! Who reigns over all living souls, including the corrupted soul that stands before me!"

Elberich only roared louder. He twisted in a mix of pain and anger at the purification spell. The magic of the others was proving to be a distraction, as Gilbert had hoped, and with the added spiritual magic of the Sage, Gilbert was slowly gaining a foothold over the spectre.

"You have overstepped your boundaries, spectre! You have crossed the Lord Sariel and undermined his power! You will leave this place at once!"

"I will have justice!" The spectre shrieked.

"By the holy power of the Death God, you will leave this body and this world!" Gilbert commanded.

"He is mine! This world is mine!" Elberich yelled. _"Er gehort mir! Diese Welt ist mir!"_

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram kicked and screamed and cursed at the white hands that gripped him. They were like icicles clamped around his arms and legs. The glowing pair of eyes hovered just above him, staring down at his struggle.

In a single moment of clarity, Wolfram held his hand aloft and summoned his fire magic in a last desperate attempt. He didn't care if he set the room on fire, or himself. He needed to escape.

A sudden burst of red and yellow light blinded Wolfram's vision. Heat enveloped his body and the hands disappeared to leave him in a heap on the bare floor. He scrambled to his feet, spinning around to see where the hands had gone, but he found nothing. He dared to look back up at the eyes. They had not moved from their spot on the ceiling and looked down at him calmly.

Wolfram was scared stiff. He stared up at the eyes blankly, unable to move or think enough to react. The eyes continued to watch him until they were joined by several others pairs lighting up the dark ceiling to glare at him.

Somehow, Wolfram was able to find enough willpower to command his legs to move. He ran from the room and back into the hall to search for Greta.

"Wolfram!"

He saw Greta standing in the middle of the hallway, in tears and staring at the place where her father had been dragged. Without speaking, he scooped her up into his arms and ran as fast as his legs could carry them to the safety of his room.

"We have to get back!" Wolfram said breathlessly to Greta. "Just hold on!"

For some unknown reason, Wolfram felt compelled to look over his shoulder to see if the eyes and hands were still in the room. Much to his horror, he could see dark figures standing just beyond the doorframe staring out at him and Greta with their brightly lit eyes. They all reached with unnaturally long arms out to Wolfram to drag him back into their midst.

Faster than he ever thought possible, Wolfram spun around and took off down the hall at full speed. He didn't look where he was going, he only relied on pure instinct and memory to guide him back to their fortified room.

As they ran, they were harassed by multitudes of ghostly arms bursting from the walls and grabbing for them. Wolfram was forced to swerve and dodge the grasping hands while still running for their lives. He kept a vice-like grip on Greta, who had buried her face in his neck to block the horrific images, and they kept running.

Like a beacon in a fog, Wolfram saw the still open door to his room. He picked up his pace and made a last dash for their haven.

Wolfram was suddenly yanked down to the ground. He managed to roll onto his back to protect Greta from the impact. He grunted from the force of hitting the floor and immediately began to kick at whatever had grabbed his foot.

He pried Greta from his arms and shoved the little girl towards the room. "Get inside! Shut the door!"

Greta crawled to the door and threw herself inside. She turned around to grab for her father, but Wolfram was already being dragged back to whatever fate the giests had in store for him.

"I call upon the spirits of fire! " Wolfram shouted and frantically threw a wave of flames at the hands.

The ghostly hands dissolved into the air and Wolfram scrambled into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Finally, he and Greta were back in the red-colored safety of their bedroom. The spirits howled and moaned beyond the door in anger at being thwarted. Wolfram pressed up against the door, fearing that they might try to break it down. However, they didn't. The howling continued, but no effort was made to break in the door.

"Wolfram!"

Wolfram turned around to face his daughter. Greta was pale and wide-eyed, standing in the middle of the room and shaking from the ordeal. She stared worriedly at Wolfram who didn't look much better, pointing to a place at his side.

"You're bleeding!" She whimpered.

AS if those were the magic words, a series of sharp pains coursed through Wolfram's body simultaneously. As the adrenaline wore off, Wolfram's irritated wounds made themselves known.

The demon prince groaned and slumped against the door. His side was bleeding where some stitches had come undone and the wound had bled through his clothes. Everywhere ached and Wolfram was sure that it wasn't the only injury he had aggravated.

He weakly gestured towards the bedside drawer. "Greta….get me some bandages from over there and the pain medication!"

Greta rushed to help her father and the two worked to patch up Wolfram's injuries as best they could. Some of them would require re-stitching later, but for now, they only had a few bandages and torn bedsheets to stop the bleeding and stave off infection.

Wolfram thought briefly of his brothers and prayed to whatever god or ancestors above that something would come to save them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The creature actually missed the ferryman.

He didn't like where the boat trip had left him. He was surrounded by even more mist, but this time the mist hid the wandering souls of those trapped in purgatory. They were like grey blue shadows walking and bumping into each other as they bemoaned their fates.

The creature tried to concentrate on his journey and ignore the tragic tales that the spirits wanted to tell him.

"I died in childbirth…" one shadow sobbed as it pushed past the creature.

"I murdered my father because he wouldn't stop raping my sister," another one moaned. "He deserved it!"

"I never made it home after the war. I'm lost," said another with a sigh.

So many stories, so many sins, unfinished business, and curses swept past the creature as he made his way to the dwelling of the Death Gods.

"Go straight and no matter what you mustn't speak to anyone!" The cold orders of the ferryman echoed in the creature's head and he was determined to follow them, lest he become lost like the rest of them.

Had he been going straight the entire time? Honestly, it couldn't remember. It had been jostled and pushed by so many spirits that it couldn't remember if it was still going in the same direction. Really, it looked as if space and distance had no meaning here. He wondered what the ferryman could have meant if that were the case.

After an indeterminable amount of time being shoved, the creature began to lose hope of ever finding the death gods, whoever they may be. The only changes to its environment were that it had somehow managed to become even colder, after already being unbearably frigid.

The creature stopped when it sensed another presence ahead of it. This one was not like the other wandering spirits. This one moved with purpose in a straight line towards it. Out of the mist, the presence took shape and unlike the other shadows, it had distinct features.

It was a man, a tall man with straight black hair and feline black eyes. He was dressed in a tunic and trousers that were as black as his hair and looked to be made of fine material. He didn't give off a sense of malice or self-serving grief like the other spirits, instead he simply looked as someone who had suffered much in their life, but accepted it with grim resolve.

The creature backed away in fear, remembering the ferryman's warning. The man stepped closer and beckoned the creature to stay.

"There is no need to fear me," the ma said in a soothing voice. "I will not hurt you. I am here to help."

The creature made to respond, but the man stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"You must not speak," he said. "The ferryman spoke the truth. If you speak aloud to a spirit you will become trapped in their woes and never find your way back. But there is nothing wrong with me speaking to you, for I am already trapped."

The creature snapped its mouth shut and watched the man expectantly.

The man gave a gentle smile. "That is right. Just remain quiet and follow me."

The creature must have looked skeptical for the man sighed and continued.

"I am doomed to wander this place for eternity. Unlike, the other spirits in this realm, I have no hope of ever finding my way or having some kind soothsayer direct me toward my final resting place….not until you find your way back."

The man reached out and stroked the creature's bald head, a sad, faraway look on his face.

"I am so sorry for the suffering I have you caused you and your loved ones…my hatred of my brother has become its own person because of my obsession for revenge. I rendered myself unable to be cleansed and cross over. Even though I realized the error of my ways many centuries ago it was too late to stop it. I can't control it anymore."

The creature must have looked confused for the man shrugged and gestured for it to follow him.

"It is in the past now. Right now, we must find you a path back to the world of the living. They are in desperate need of you."

Without waiting for confirmation, the man turned and walked into the fog. The creature scurried after him, not wanting to be left alone after finding an apparent ally in this forsaken place. The man continued to walk ahead, pushing aside any roving spirits that got in the way and clearing a path for the creature.

The creature thought of the man's words. Someone had need of it? Who? The creature's only memories were that of meeting the ferryman, riding in the boat, getting lost in purgatory and then meeting this strange man. There was nothing before that no matter how hard it tried to recall any older memories. Something itched at the back of its mind but failed to manifest itself as anything tangible.

"Do not stop."

It looked up to see the man standing just ahead of it. The creature hadn't realized it as paused in its walk so deep in thought. It mumbled an apology and quickly caught up to the man, who continued the long trek to wherever they were headed.

The air around them shifted. It dissipated and left a vacuum around them. All the wandering spirits moved aside for the omnipotent presence that morphed into existence just ahead of them. It grew until it towered over the creature and the man and gradually took shape.

The creature cowered behind the man in fear of the death god that stood before them. The god was slim and completely draped in black. The creature couldn't tell if the god had a cowl attached to his cloak or if that was his hair. Either way, it only made him more intimidating.

"You don't belong here…" said the god to the creature. His voice was deep and calm and cut through the creature's mind like a knife.

"I don't belong here?" The creature whispered, very frightened of the deity before him.

"This is a place for souls in transition." Said the god. "You don't have a soul."

The creature looked down and shook his head.

"You don't have a name, a face, or a heart," the god continued, dark swirls of cloud floating around him as he moved. "You are a blank slate, an abomination created by arrogant mortals. You should be destroyed."

The creature looked up in fear and backed away from the god. He had nowhere to escape to. He feared death and what awaited a lifeless thing such as himself.

The god seemed to sense his feelings and smiled grimly. "There is no afterlife for you. If I were to crush your skull now, you would cease to exist."

"If you crushed my skull," The creature asked. "What would happen to my mind?"

"No one knows," said the god. "You would be absolutely nothing. No thought, no memory, and no emotion. Just a blank conscience."

"Please," it whimpered. "I don't know where I am or how I came to be! I don't remember anything. I just want…..I just want someone to tell me what to do."

"No one here can tell you what to do, little one," replied the god, somewhat sympathetically. "This is not a place where one can give or receive orders. This is a place where everything that was you is reckoned. There is no direction or purpose, just existence. Purpose is of the material world."

"There is nothing to reckon," said the creature. "I am nothing. I don't know what I am!"

"You are a homunculus," the god said quietly. "You are a shallow imitation of a real soul. You are indeed nothing for you shouldn't exist." The god paused. "However, you are unlike any other homunculus that has ever been."

Moving much too fast for the creature to see, the god was suddenly standing directly in front him. It happened so abruptly that the creature nearly tripped from jumping back in surprise. The god didn't respond, he only continued to scrutinize it with a level stare. The creature tried not to look directly into the god's eyes. They were too icy and piercing. He felt even more vulnerable and naked when those white, pupiless eyes drilled into his psyche.

"You should have died when you entered here," the god muttered, almost to himself. "Your body and mind are too weak to cross over and yet, here you are. Whoever made you did very well."

The creature said nothing and continued to look at his feet.

"My master…"

The creature looked up to where the man who led him here stood. He had been silent the entire time, keeping his head bowed in reverence to the god, but now he chose to speak up.

"This creature was made in my image, using my powers and part of the soul of a blind woman." The man explained, only the barest hint of anger and resentment creeped into his tone. "Now, my powers have grown too much and coupled with my hatred of the Demon nation have brought much chaos to the living world."

"And who made this pitiful thing?" The god questioned.

"My brother, Shinou," the man answered. "He passed through your realm three millennia ago and was judged by your brother, Samael."

"Samael judged him…" The god said with a frown. "And he was not accounted for this insult to natural order?"

"He had others to complete the spell," said the man. "He did not touch the dark magic with his own hands….and Samael was his patron god."

The god sneered in disgust. "A filthy loophole! He escaped punishment in the afterlife by having others commit the crime!"

The man smiled ruefully. "Such is the nature of my brother, my lord Sariel. I apologize on his behalf."

"It is because of your brother that this travesty has befallen the world!" The god – Sariel – hissed. "Or really because of mine! Samael has always been lax with his followers! Had it been me I would've stopped such grotesque disregard for the natural laws of life!"

"What is going on?" The creature dared to speak up, despite Lord Sariel being visibly angry.

Sariel looked sternly at the creature. "Much mischief and carelessness! Unhinged destruction begotten by irresponsibility! A terrible darkness has fallen upon the Great Demon Kingdom brought upon by acts committed well before your time! Such recklessness!"

Both the man and the creature were silent.

"Is there no hope?" The man said sadly. "This is all my fault! I allowed my anger to fester until it formed its own being! I cannot control it for I am not alive! But it is no less destructive!"

Sariel was silent for a long time. He stared out into the distance as he contemplated this turn of events. Both the man and the creature watched him carefully, anxiously waiting for the god's wisdom and guidance they so desperately needed.

After what felt like forever, Sariel finally spoke.

"It is not the ways of the gods to interfere with the lives of the mortals," He said slowly, not looking at either. "Such is not our place. To us, dark and light magic have no distinction…it is all the same energy. But we put rules in place because no mortal, demon or human, can ever understand the omnipotence of such powers. That is why we put the contracts of the elements, to ensure that each wielder adheres to specific laws for each element."

Sariel turned back to the two beings. "But when a being learns to harness magic that is not bound by elemental contracts, the natural order is disturbed and there are no rules in place to control such magic. The power to control the dead and living is something that no mortal should ever have."

"What can be done then?" asked the man. "What can be done about it?" He gestured towards the creature.

"What is done is done," said Sariel gravely. "Shinou has received his final judgment and therefore, I cannot summon his soul back to this realm without much effort and time – something that we do not have. It disgusts me that he abused the gifts granted to him by the gods to save his people from the mistake he made…only to do it again!"

"Are we to just sit here then?" The creature cowered when the man suddenly shouted in frustration. "It won't stop until it has destroyed everything!"

"Since it is your power that has lost control, you must be the one to stop it," explained Sariel.

"But I am dead!" the man said irritably.

The creature didn't know what to make of this scene. His head was starting to hurt and he couldn't help but feel like he had forgotten something very important and that man was reminding him of it. The man was becoming increasingly familiar to him as he continued to speak with the god, but for the life of him, the creature couldn't even begin to wonder why. He was scared, cold, and lost and these two strange beings only added to his confusion.

"There is a way…but you will need to use him to do it."

The creature looked up timidly to see the man and the god staring at him intently. He shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for either to speak.

"How?" said the man, still staring at the creature.

"He is the only thing not bound to this place by death. Through him, you can reenter the world of the living and stop this madness."

"What will happen to him?" the man said. The creature felt a sudden sense of dismay.

"What does it matter?" said the god.

"It does matter!" the man cried emphatically. "He is the victim! He did not ask to be made! Must he sacrifice himself to oblivion as well?"

"He is neither human nor demon," Sariel pointed out again. "He doesn't have the same rights as actual souls because he doesn't have one."

"But that doesn't mean he isn't alive!" the man said with clenched fists. The creature suddenly felt camaraderie with this man. The familiarity now felt warm when he saw the man defending him.

"He is _animated_," clarified Sariel. "It's different from being alive. If he doesn't have a soul then he can't be really alive. He cannot create memories or feel emotion. He cannot function as an individual. He is just a puppet waiting for his next order. All you have to do is claim his body and you will be able to return and save the demon kingdom."

"He is made from my soul and that of another!" insisted the man. "Does that not count for something?"

"A soul is created from the energies of the mother and father's souls. This creature was made from an obscene parody of the union between mother and father that creates a new soul. To count it would be an insult." Sariel's voice was unforgiving.

"He is still a living being, my lord!" The man pleaded. "I cannot with good conscience take his life! He has already suffered so much!"

"Then you have condemned the Demon Kingdom to death!" Sariel said coldly.

"There must be some other way!"

"May I say something?"

Both the man and Sariel seemed to remember that the creature was still with them. They regarded it as if there were seeing it for the first time. The creature stood up a little straighter and swallowed the nerves that threatened to consume him.

"I….I am not entirely sure what's going on," said the creature nervously. "But you said that if I don't have a soul, I can't make memories or feel emotion. What if I do have memories and emotions?"

Sariel thought for a moment. "Then you will have changed the laws of life and death for eternity. An impossible feat. Do you remember what you were before you came here at all?"

The creature cringed. "No…I don't remember anything. I only remember meeting the ferryman and coming here. That's it."

"But that doesn't mean nothing happened to him!" the man interjected. "He was alive for eighteen years! He has accomplished so much and done so many things! Surely, he has memories!"

"When a soul dies, they take along their memories with them," Sariel countered. "When he crossed into purgatory, he lost everything that made him what he was. If he had a soul, he would not have lost his identity for his identity is comprised of his experiences, feelings, and most importantly, his memories. If he has none of those things, then he cannot be counted among the living."

"That doesn't mean I never existed!" To the shock of the creature, and the other two, it raised its voice to defend itself and fight. The creature knew he had to have been someone before he came here! The man's defense of it proved that there was more to him than just a body with a conscience.

"You existed…but you have nothing to prove for it," Sariel said. His demeanor changed and he regarded the creature with renewed interest.

The creature paused. It thought really hard for a long time and then an idea came to it.

"What about the people I met during my time among the living?"

Sariel tilted his head inquisitively. "How so?"

"Wouldn't they have memories of me?" the creature asked. "If I had been among the living for many years then certainly there are people who know me and remember me! Are there people I can call family? Maybe…maybe there are people who loved me and they miss me! They can't miss me if they don't remember me!'

"True…" Sariel hummed. The corners of his mouth twitched oddly. "But how does that change what you are?"

"Even though I may not remember living," it continued. "I would imagine that living involves the things that we do and say with others…..Wouldn't our life be defined by the people and places we encounter along the way? The entire concept of existence – by my own thought – would be in how we live and how our lives impact others. If I lived for many years, I would think that my life would be valued by the memories that I leave in others…not just my own."

The creature so caught up in his tangent that he didn't see Sariel slowly smile at him.

"If I am loved…or even hated…I would be remembered. Because I changed someone's life so much that they remembered me and - and that would mean that I existed and lived! So that means I did things and said things that changed others….Others felt emotions for me and surely I would have returned their feelings in kind! That is being alive, right? I'm alive to someone!"

Sariel's smile widened. The creature's tangent had confirmed something in the god and he responded.

"You are right. Life is defined by our actions and the actions of those around us. One's legacy is defined by what impact one leaves on the lives of others, no matter how small. Whether or not we see it, does not it mean it didn't happen. Many things happen in this universe that go unnoticed…but that will never mean that they didn't happen. But what does that leave you, little one? You who does not remember?"

"I can remember!" The creature argued. "I can remember my life because it happened and someone saw it happen! That alone will help me remember who I am!"

"What say you, Elberich?" Sariel turned to the man.

Elberich? Why did that seem familiar to the creature?

'Elberich' smiled warmly at the creature. "If that is how life is defined then I am even less inclined to steal his body and erase him completely. I have no desire to live again and that is what would happen if I were to take him."

The creature looked between Elberich and Sariel.

Sariel nodded. "Then, little one, you must remember your past life. If you can do that then I can help save you and Elberich save the Demon Kingdom."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

Well, this seems like a good place to end here. I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment.

This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write. I'm doing my best to tie up all the loose ends and answer as many questions as possible while trying to create sense of drama and suspense.

I must be honest with you. I'm losing faith in this story. It's almost like I bit off more than I could chew with the concept and the plot. There as some sub-plots that I introduced a long time ago that I won't be able to address and there are characters that are canon in the anime that I didn't include. I have my own reasons for this but most of it is just due to my own inexperience as a writer and I apologize for that. My only hope is that I can write a satisfactory ending that will please my readers.

I am also struggling with motivation for this story. I am of the opinion that the fandom is now officially brain dead. Every time I log in to check out other stories it's the same cliché's and stereotypes I ran into when this fandom was at its peak…only its five times as boring and done to death. I can only read the same fan fictions over and over until even they become boring. Where are Runewolf, Harpgo, and Mikage1 and the others!? We need them!

It's hard to stay motived when you feel like no one cares. Which I know isn't true…many of you have proven that you are as invested in this story as I am and I know that…but it's hard when I feel like the community is gone. We need some new blood and fast!

Well, there's my two cents. I do hope you all enjoyed this chapter. There are only a couple of chapters left and hopefully it will be done soon. Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. It means the world to me.

Please, please leave a review! They make me write faster! (I'm dead serious. Nothing gets me inspired like a new review!)

Best wishes! - EB


	21. Chapter 21 The Twenty-Sixth Day Part 5

Hello, Everyone!

Thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement. It means a lot to me. I want you all to know that I do read each and every review and I take your suggestions and comments seriously when I write my new material

I wanted to clarify something. I hope no one got the impression that I was thinking of discontinuing this story. That's not the case. My problem is that I don't always know what to do with THYS (I have my basic overall plot, but sometimes the execution of said plot is daunting at times).

Please enjoy chapter 21 of THYS!

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Chapter Twenty-One – The Twenty-Sixth Day part 4 – Reclamation

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The creature sat alone on the banks of the Styx river. He had watched the Ferryman sail up and down the foggy stream carrying various souls to and fro to their final judgment before the twin Death Gods. The Ferryman would occasionally cast a curious glance at the creature before shrugging and returning to his thankless duty.

Sariel's words echoed in the creature's mind. If he could remember his life before he came to Purgatory, then it would prove he was truly alive and Sariel could helphim become a real living being and help Elberich save the Demon Kingdom – whatever that was.

So the creature excused himself to sit on the riverbank and Sariel melted into the darkness to await the creature's success or failure. Elberich wandered off into the distance. The creature had been left alone for hours (or minutes or days, time had no relevance here) to try and recall the last eighteen years of his life.

So far, he was having no luck. All he could recall was meeting the ferryman and the events that occurred after. He watched the wandering spirits meander around him, listening to their tragic stories and pleas for redemption, knowing that they would find none. Sariel was a strict god and only gave leniency to those who truly deserved it. The creature hadn't met Samael yet, but there was something in him that said he probably didn't want to.

So he sat in silence, shivering at the nonexistent cold and waiting for some grand revelation to come to him only to be continually disappointed by the blankness that came to him instead.

The creature looked up at the dark sky. There was no light, only a grey pallor to everything. But the sky was a constantly swirling mass of dark clouds with the occasional shock of bluish light. The creature watched it awe as the clouds picked up speed and a gentle wind picked up that swept over the barren land.

"Any luck so far?"

The friendly tone was extremely out of place in the dismal purgatory. The creature didn't move as Elberich seated himself next to the albino creature to watch the River Styx carry more souls to their final resting place.

The creature said nothing, Elberich's previous warning echoing in his mind. He didn't want to be burdened with the memories and sins of another, he needed his own.

Elberich only smiled. "It's good that you remember my words. Since you are a blank slate, should you begin to converse with the dead, you will inexplicably absorb their memories and emotions."

The creature shuddered.

"Sariel is not an unjust god," Elberich continued. "He is simply adhering to the laws of this world. He sees that you have your own conscious and you were able to survive the transition into this realm. He wants to give you a chance."

"I can't remember anything….." The creature muttered, his frustration winning out against his caution.

Elberich sighed. "I know….It is near impossible to remember one's life and then use those memories to form an identity. I spent most of my life not knowing what I was and because of that, I gave in to my madness."

The creature looked at Elberich curiously. The man was staring into the silver waters of the river as his mind conjured up old images and feelings from when he was alive.

"And when I gave into my madness and embraced the dark nature of my powers, it cost me my life and my love," Elberich whispered sadly.

The creature felt sorry for the man. His words struck a familiar chord within the creature. He knew what it was like to be driven into madness, though he didn't know how he knew.

Elberich was silent for a long time. The creature simply watched him and the river. It wanted so desperately to ask Elberich more questions about his past. The creature felt a strange pull towards this man and needed to know more about him.

"You should have perished, you know," Elberich's deep voice cut through the silence so sharply that the creature startled.

"Homunculi are not meant to be permanent creatures. They have a very limited life-span. You should've become dust when you were transported between worlds."

Elberich leaned forward to pin the creature with his gaze. "The fact that you survived and retained your consciousness is impossible. Even if you were made with a piece of my soul and my power and that of another, you still should've disintegrated."

The creature looked down at his feet. He was an anomaly. Something that should not be and yet, here he was. Everything about his existence spoke against the natural laws of the universe. It was a perversion of the pure nature of life and should have been erased immediately when he died….had he even died? If he had no soul to begin with then could he call what happened to him dying? It didn't feel right at all.

The creature despaired. For the thousandth time, he combed his brain for any clue, any snippet of color, shape, or feeling that could reveal his past life. Yet once again, he came up blank. Anything beyond the initial meeting with the ferryman was just white and black. He had nothing.

"I know what it's like to be an abomination…."

The creature froze. Elberich was talking again. The creature wasn't sure if he should leave or sit still until Elberich was finished. He didn't want Elberich's memories to latch onto him, but the man was in a trance. His eyes were black and blank – the same expression on the other lost souls that bemoaned their fates as the creature walked through the underworld.

"I have been a dirty secret, a filthy half-breed, a weapon….a traitor," Elberich continued, bitter and heartbroken. "I was never my own person. I was always someone else's nightmare. I should have never existed."

Elberich lowered his gaze to the grey sandy ground. The creature remained stone still and tried to tune him out, but found that he couldn't. The pull to Elberich was growing stronger.

"The only time I ever felt like a real person was with her," Elberich said. "My lovely little Rue. She was my one and only joy. She made the madness bearable."

Elberich smiled softly, recalling some pleasant memory from eons ago. However, the smile quickly died as the memory was replaced with something much darker.

"Not even she could see past my monstrosity," Elberich choked out. The creature took a risk and glanced at Elberich's clenched hands at his sides. They were shaking.

"I should have known it was only a matter of time. When I revealed my true nature to her, she became like all the others! I suppose it was my fault. She was there when I slaughtered an entire city of people under that cursed spell my brother had placed on me!"

"What happened?" The creature spoke before he could stop himself. Elberich's story was stirring within him, reaching deep into its limited mind.

"She tried to leave me….And I begged her to stay by my side," Elberich said brokenly. "She feared me. To make her stay, I told her how to kill me. I told her my one weakness."

The creature felt very sorry for Elberich. The man seemed so sad and lost. Elberich had been kind to it the entire time, so he just couldn't see him as something to be feared or hated.

"Have you had any success yet?"

Both the creature and Elberich jumped at the loud voice that cut through the sullen quiet of the afterlife. Both turned around to see Sariel standing behind them with an uncharacteristically wide grin that bespoke mischief.

"Lord Samael," Elberich breathed. The creature looked between the two in confusion.

This wasn't Sariel. The creature picked up on that as soon as he took in the imposing visage of this identical god. This god's mannerisms were much more easy-going, deceptively inviting. Where Sariel was stern, this one was jovial. However, his jovial attitude was tainted by an underlying sense of malice.

"Has the little abomination found his way?" Samael asked cheerily, fixing yellow eyes on the creature, who fought the urge to hide behind Elberich.

The creature silently shook his head "no" to which Samael chuckled. "No need to fear me, little one. I only wished to see this homunculus that has defied our laws."

"Samael!"

"Brother…" Samael said with an eye roll as Sariel appeared at his side, looking quite indignant.

"Leave it alone!" Sariel scolded. "You're meddling has caused enough trouble!"

Samael gave a long-suffering sigh. "You have no sense of adventure, brother. I have done nothing wrong. Unlike you, I like to reward my followers when they please me."

"Rewarding your followers with unchecked power is irresponsible!" Sariel hissed. "Because of your neglect, an entire continent is on the verge of destruction!"

"It is nothing he can't handle," Samael said, gesturing towards the creature. "He was made to be their messiah. However, his creators didn't put the right fail-safes in place."

"I can't even remember my past!" The creature blurted. "How can I fix anything?"

"Ah yes….it is impossible to accomplish anything when you have nothing," Samael said airily. "But I don't think you realize just what your existence means, little one. You have defied every law and nature that we put in place eons ago."

Samael moved to stand before the homunculus, his smoky black robes billowing out with every movement. Both Samael and Sariel seemed to be made of smoke and fog and glided around as if completely detached from their surroundings.

"Sariel and I have been the overseers of the afterlife and purgatory since the creation of this world. We have seen many souls come and go and we have judged mercifully and cruelly to many who come to our realm. You are the first of the golems to have survived this far. Which proves that you are far more than what you appear and are stronger than the strongest of natural souls."

"Which is why we don't know what to do with you," Sariel added.

"And it is why we are unsure of how to react to this…predicament both here and in the living world," Samael finished.

"What is happening?" The creature asked.

"A terrible power has taken control of an even more terrible power and wishes to use it to destroy those who did him harm. A power that is made of every negative emotion known to humans and demons," Samael answered, though he was looking at Elberich, who lowered his head in shame.

"And that very power is starting to cause a rift in our realm…" Sariel said sternly.

As if to emphasize Sariel's words, the dark sky above them rumbled with thunder and a long streak of lightening scattered across the sky. For the first time in the briefest of seconds, Purgatory was illuminated and the creature could see the wandering spirits in their grotesque finery in all their glory along with the skeletal trees, grey sandy earth and endless wastelands that comprised the world between worlds. The clouds swirled at an alarming rate and the creature could swear he could see beyond them and into another world with brief, dark silhouettes that struck a chord in his mind.

"Whatever is going on in the Living World," Sariel said after a brief glance at the rolling sky. "It starting to affect this world. The rift will grow and the wandering souls will try to escape."

"But, do not fret," Samael said, much more relaxed than his twin. "Sariel and I can hold them, but we cannot stop the rift from widening as long as the source of the rift is still active."

"How can it be stopped?" The creature asked in curiosity.

"If you can take back that power," Samael continued. "You can stop it from destroying everything."

"But I don't even know what I am or what I was!" The homunculus despaired. "I don't even know my own name!"

"There!" Samael exclaimed, pointed a finger at the creature. "Focus on that! You are running yourself ragged by trying to remember everything at once. Remember your name and then piece your memories together from that. There is power in names. When you were named, it granted you everything that you were ever going to be. Names have meaning. Remember your name and you will remember everything."

"But how?" asked the creature sadly.

"You said so yourself, little one," Samael said with a smile. "Though you may not remember, there are those who do. They will reach out to you from beyond. Just wait – and listen…."

Samael turned and began to walk away from the group without another word.

"Where are you going, brother?" Sariel asked in annoyance.

Samael turned around with a mischievous grin on his face. "To watch the show! I haven't been this entertained in millennia!"

Sariel huffed irritably and then followed his brother into the mist. "He is incorrigible!" He turned back to where the creature and Elberich sat. "Though he is right. Try to remember your name and the rest will come."

The twin gods disappeared into the abyss as suddenly as they had come. They left the creature and Elberich alone by the river with the shadows of wandering souls swirling around them.

"They are strange," the creature commented. To which Elberich snorted.

"They are just two of the many deities that oversee our universe," Elberich said. "They symbolize vice and virtue. Samael is vice and Sariel is virtue. They are the duality of nature. Perfect opposites."

"Oh…" the creature thought for a moment. "Can they really stop the rift thing?"

Elberich shrugged. "They should…..though they are right in that you need to remember your name and your past so that my dark self can be defeated."

The two gods watched Elberich and the creature from their thrones well out of sight in a dimension no person, dead or alive, could reach without their invitation. Seated before them was a large basin on a pedestal that showed the unfolding chaos as the demons struggled to subdue the dark power that was Elberich's hatred while it had its merry way with them.

"It's like watching a child throw his toys about in a tantrum," Samael commented as he watched.

"How can you watch when there's a hole in our world!?" Sariel said in frustration, looking out at the rapidly moving clouds that revealed the break in the barrier between their world and that of the living.

"Relax, brother!" Samael said with a lazy wave of his hand. "Our subjects fear us too much to try and escape!"

"Perhaps the weakest ones," Sariel retorted. "But the corrupted ones will try! We've ruled this world long enough to know that souls will do anything when desperate."

"Have faith in the boy king," Samael said, not at all fazed by his brother's glare. "He will remember his name and he will retake his body and save us all."

"You are far too relaxed for someone whose world is about to be torn at the seams!" Sariel hissed.

"I'm not, Sariel….far from it. But I do know that nothing can be really done until Yuuri remembers his past. Until then, I will enjoy this lovely drama before me and revel in the spectacle until I can do something about it."

"This has not happened since the forging of the universe…." Sariel said. "When the realms split into four dimensions…"

"And like before, it will return to order," Samael replied. "Little Yuuri is right in that his past does not matter when there are those who remember him. Even better, they love him – one in particular. They will reach him and now that there's a giant tear between our world and theirs, it should be even easier…"

"You had better be right, brother!" Sariel said sternly. "Or we will have to answer to Father."

Finally, Samael actually looked worried.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were all going to die.

That thought kept running through Conrad's head as he watched cowering in a corner while his brother, Gunter, the sage, Lord Bielefeld, and young Alphonse struggled to contain the unhinged destruction that was the demon king.

Conrad had seen the demon king's displays of power many times. When Yuuri's hair grew long and his eyes became feline, Conrad knew that he was about to witness a grand display of powerful magic that he was silently grateful was not directed at him. Unlike now.

Conrad had seen Yuuri singlehandedly defeat pirates, create hurricanes, defeat other just as powerful kings, subdue rogue giant dolls, liberate enslaved women and children and challenge more experienced powers, and always come out victorious in the end.

But what made those events different was that Yuuri was always in control. Some part of Conrad knew that Yuuri wasn't using his powers to their full potential. Yuuri's kind and just nature would not allow him to carelessly endanger others, he only wished to defeat those that meant him and his people harm. But he never wished to destroy and kill needlessly. So Yuuri had always held back.

However, this was not Yuuri they were dealing with. This thing had taken over their precious king's body and his omnipotent power and was using it to throw and batter them around the large room like toys. Actually, that was all the spectre could manage as the combined powers of Gwendal, Gunter, Murata, Waltorana, and Alphonse, along with Gilbert's mystical chants, were the only things blocking Elberich from unleashing utter anarchy. Conrad hated to see what would happen without their efforts to contain the possession.

In center of it all, Gilbert screamed above the cacophony, desperately trying to reel in the spirit's power and subdue it, but it was proving useless. While they were all powerful magic users in their own right, no one could stand against the god-like power that young Yuuri Shibuya had been gifted with by the Great One.

In a strange moment of absent thought, Conrad wondered what possible logic Shinou had seen in granting immense power to such a young and emotionally immature person such as Yuuri. For all his worth, Yuuri was a kind and pure soul – but he was still little more than a child when he ascended the throne and became the most powerful ruler in Shin Makoku's history. It almost seemed as if their ancestor was asking for something like this to happen. Yuuri had been left vulnerable to possession by a malevolent force that hijacked his powers and was using them to destroy everything. Really, was their predecessor that irresponsible?

In between watching the battle unfold before him, Conrad kept having flashbacks to when they first defeated Soushou. Yuuri had been easily possessed then too. There had been the same moment of utter loss when he addressed them in a voice that was too deep and eyes that were too dark and menacing. It had only been by the grace of Yuuri's willpower and goodness that had saved them.

Conrad dared to open his eyes against the sting of the rapidly moving energy and wind. Gunter and Gwendal were standing to the side, pushing their magic against Elberich's force, Gilbert held his arms aloft in some chant that couldn't be heard, Marko, the old man, the old doctor that he was so quick to blame for Yuuri's condition, was nothing more than a large hump in the other corner, white hair whipping about as he tried to protect himself. Alphonse and Waltorana were working together to aid Gunter and Gwendal to create a barrier to contain Elberich's magic. In the midst of it all, the sage stood behind Gilbert, a de facto bodyguard, as he lent his spiritual power to Gilbert's ritual.

They were holding their own just barely, but Elberich had other ideas.

Very abruptly, Elberich withdrew his power. The others stumbled as the tension gave away and they reeled in their magic, though they stood poised should something happen. And it did.

With a mischievous grin, Elberich sent a shock wave of pure energy outward that sent all six men hurling against the walls. Conrad had to duck to avoid being hit by Gwendal's massive form flying through the air like a ragdoll. He quickly helped his brother up, who winced in pain at his now dislocated shoulder.

"We are at a loss," Gwendal growled in pain, watching as Elberich finally broke his bonds and stood from the disintegrated chair. "We have no choice."

"Brother…" Conrad said brokenly, immediately knowing what Gwendal meant.

"We have to destroy Elberich's link to Yuuri's power," Gwendal said with grim finality. "We have to destroy the body."

The body. Such a cold clinical term for someone that had come to mean so much to them. However, it was the only accurate description as Yuuri was no longer in control of his powers or his body – they weren't even sure if he was even alive. Right now, the priority had shifted to survival and saving their home at any cost.

Gwendal slowly stood, summoning his earth magic once more, but this time with the intent to kill. The other demons slowly got up as well, all wearing the same look of grief and determination as the worst possible solution made itself clear to all who stood against the monster their monarch had become.

Conrad hoped that Yuuri was somewhere still inside his body and would be able to fight his way back to their world and stop Elberich. Before they lost everything.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram and Greta worked to stop the bleeding from the wounds on his side. Likely due to the adrenaline and Wolfram's panicked heartbeat, the blood continued to pour out between the makeshift bandages despite their best efforts.

Wolfram began to teeter from his spot on the bed. The room was swimming and tilting in front of his blurry vision. It was becoming a chore to breathe and he felt cold. The blood loss was getting to him. He would need medical attention soon, but they were trapped in the weakening safety of the room.

Beyond the closed door, they could hear the unearthly screams of the dead tearing through the palace as they attacked the unlucky inhabitants of the castle. Wolfram wondered what precautions had been taken to protect the palace staff during the exorcism and concluded that not much had been done – if at all.

Wolfram could feel the threads of magic twisting through the atmosphere. All his years as a fire wielder had sensitized him to the ebb and flow of the natural magic that resided in everything. He could feel the unique signatures of his brother's, and Gunter's magic surging through the air from the room where Yuuri was kept. He could also feel the presence of Alphonse's magic, a little weaker and less controlled, but still very present. All of their magic gave off the sense of aggression and his trepidation grew as he wondered why they would be using their magic for attacking anyways when it should have been defensive.

Wolfram was brought back to the present when Greta tried, again, to tie a fresh bandage around his torso. Tiny trails of tears stained her face as she worked frantically to save her adoptive father, certainly not keen on losing yet another parent.

If Greta could get out of this safe, Wolfram didn't care what happened to him. He would stay behind and fight to rescue his fiancé, even if it meant his own death. However, he wanted to ensure that Greta had a chance at survival. She didn't deserve this. She deserved to be safe and cared for, not caught in the sturm und drung of an evil entity's revenge.

"Wolfram!"

Wolfram wearily lifted his head from being perched on his chest to be met with the stark white face of his terrified daughter.

Greta was holding a half-unraveled spool of bandages. Her fingers were visibly trembling as was the rest of her as she stared at the talisman-covered door that was their only protection from the evil ghouls outside.

"There's something outside the room…" She whimpered. "It's trying to get in!"

Wolfram stood stark still as he listened intently to the door. Sure enough, there was something creeping just beyond the threshold, slowly dragging large claws down the thin wood.

Every muscle in Wolfram's body seized up. His knuckles went white as they tightened painfully around the sheets of his cot. The clawing grew louder and Wolfram could hear the sounds of shredded wood being torn away from the only thing keeping them and whatever was on the other side apart.

This is what it felt to be truly trapped. They had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no means of defense. Wolframs mind went blank from lack of any logical reaction to the enemy on the other end. Greta cuddled closer to him for protection, but he doubted as to how effective a guard he would be for her. They were helpless. He severely wounded and she, a young child. When that door gave way, there would be no hiding.

Time seemed suspended. Nothing else moved, nothing else made a sound save for the incessant clawing at the door. Wolfram and Greta clung to each other in silence and stillness. Both had stopped breathing for fear that even the smallest of movements would betray their presence to the entity on the other side.

And the time seemed to speed up.

The door finally broke. Long spidery fingers curved around the gaping slash marks in the wood. The talismans so carefully put in place were rendered useless pieces of paper as the long fingers were joined by small child-like claws that poked from between the larger hand and under the door.

Greta squealed into Wolfram's chest, her tiny nails dug through the fabric of his shirt. Wolfram tightened his arms protectively around the little girl and watched as the number of hands grew in number and size.

Wolfram was compelled to look up at the ceiling and he immediately wished he hadn't. A low whine escaped his throat as he watched the ghost arms drop down from the ceiling and wave about blindly, no doubt trying to reach the two occupants within.

Wolfram and Greta stumbled back into the room until they were pinned against the opposite wall. The sounds of the storm outside the window served as a backdrop as the hundreds upon hundreds of arms grew in length and directed their mindless groping towards the two victims.

The thing that clawed through the door was attempting to squeeze itself through the hole it had made and the multitudes of smaller arms that curled around it. The arms revealed shoulders, a head with glowing eyes, a demon from darkness that surrounded its victims.

Whatever light was in the room dimmed and died when the creature entered the room. Pieces of paper talismans floated around it in a parody of confetti, their symbols and incantations utterly pointless now.

The creature got closer. It grinned when it saw Wolfram and Greta cowering on the other side of the room. It crawled towards them, clawed hands reaching for them and ready to tear them apart.

In an act of pure instinct, Wolfram held out his hand, summoning his fire magic through the haze of fear and hurled a large fireball at the creature.

Wolfram's face blistered from the enclosed heat as the fireball made impact with the creatures face dead on. The entity howled in surprise and anger, though it backed away slightly from where they sat.

Not thinking, not looking, and not with the usual precision that Wolfram prided himself in as a highly trained military commander, he frantically threw volley after volley of fire at anything that came near them. The only thing he could focus on was getting Greta out of there alive.

The disembodied hands squealed and recoiled, the room was filled with the smell of burning furniture, paper, and curtains putting the room in a red-orange glow. Greta screamed in fear as Wolfram dragged them to their feet with the intention of escaping the mousetrap of a room.

As long as they stayed where they were, they wouldn't be safe. Wolfram didn't have the strength to keep setting ghouls ablaze. They needed to escape. They needed to leave the palace as soon as possible.

Wolfram let loose a giant wave of fire that successfully cleared the room of the arms. Seeing the opportunity, Wolfram picked Greta up and rushed from the small room and down the hallway towards the main entrance of the castle with the clawed entities hot in pursuit.

Wolfram stepped and stumbled over the carnage of the attack. Broken vases, torn drapes, cold gusts of wind from nowhere slowed him down as he tried to save them from Elberich's wrath. Pushing past the pain, he shoved and ran as fast as he could, coldly ignoring the please and yells of the other inhabitants as they struggled to escape from this unseen enemy.

He dared not look left or right, he couldn't risk a distraction. He couldn't risk attracting the attention of some random entity or that of a desperate victim. He had only enough strength to save Greta and possibly himself. He couldn't waste it on anyone else.

The sound of a huge explosion tore through the hall and caused Wolfram to fall to his feet. The weaker spirits that surrounded them suddenly fled as an even darker power made itself known to all. A low rumbling noise shook the very foundation of the castle. Everything went deadly quiet.

Wolfram clung to the trembling child in his arms. All desire to flee drained away. There was nowhere to go. Whatever was coming down that hall would catch them and kill them. It was utterly hopeless.

A figure stumbled into the hall at the other end. Wolfram immediately recognized the tan uniform of his human brother. Conrad staggered to his feet and came running toward Wolfram when he saw them, a look of fear and relief on his face. Behind him, Wolfram could see the green, red, and white tendrils of magic that no doubt belonged to his brother, uncle, and Gunter.

Wolfram had never seen Conrad so disheveled, or bloody. For all the times Wolfram had fought alongside his brothers he had never seen Conrad, or Gwendal, look so beaten.

"Wolfram!" Conrad shouted above the growing noise. "You have to get out of here!"

"What's going on?" Wolfram cried, watching as the fight drew closer.

"Yuuri – Elberich – escaped!" Conrad panted, trying to shoo Wolfram in the direction of the only available escape. "We can't contain him. We have no choice but to take him down."

"No…No, you can't mean -" Wolfram shouted. "We need to save Yuuri!"

"There is no Yuuri!" Conrad shouted, grief and desperation evident in his voice. "It's just his body now! Yuuri is gone!"

Wolfram didn't want to believe it. He didn't believe it. Yuuri had to be alive, he just had to! All their effort couldn't have been for nothing.

"Wolfram, you have to escape!" Conrad shook Wolfram back to reality. The fighting drew nearer. Wolfram could vaguely hear the shouts of the others now.

Wolfram meant to retort, but was cut off by another explosion, or rather it was a shockwave of blue magic sent spiraling down the hall, creating a vacuum that dragged everything not bolted to the ground, including Wolfram, Greta and Conrad, along with it.

Wolfram's ears popped. He rolled over onto his stomach and weakly pushed himself up. Conrad was sprawled out just beyond him and Greta was on her side just a few feet away, sobbing uncontrollably.

Wolfram struggled to get up and go to her. He choked out her name, but she continued to sob and wail. He crawled over to where she laid, tiny bits of debris all around her, and tried to gather her back into his protective embrace.

A spark, a sound, Wolfram looked up to where the blast had come from. The fight had reached them. He saw Gwendal and the others scattered about, some were still standing, throwing blasts of wind or fire at Elberich's slowly advancing form.

Elberich finally came around the corner and stepped into the center of the hall. It was exactly like Yuuri when he became the Demon King. A blue halo pulsed around him as sparks of lightening flittered around him, poised and ready to strike with a single thought.

Wolfram stood frozen in terror. If he felt they were trapped before, it didn't compare to the complete despair that overcame him when Elberich turned blackened eyes to him and grinned like a predator that had its prey cornered.

"Yuuri…" he whimpered, some part of him wishing against all odds that somewhere inside that geist was his fiancé.

Walking in a fashion much too casual, Elberich sauntered down the hall towards Wolfram. He moved with all the malice and arrogance of a cold-blooded victor, taking his sweet time as he gracefully stepped over debris and bodies.

Elberich said nothing. Wolfram was pinned on the spot by his piercing stare. Out of the corner of his vision, Wolfram saw Conrad pick Greta up and run to some unknown location far away from him. Wolfram didn't blame his brother, as long as someone got Greta out safe, he didn't care what happened to him.

It seemed to take hours for Elberich to reach Wolfram. Wolfram slowly backed away from Elberich, which only seemed to amuse the entity.

"Wolfram, run!" he heard Gwendal shout from behind the advancing entity.

"Do something!" He heard his uncle hiss to no one in particular.

Elberich ignored them all, only focused on Wolfram, who was visibly shaking under his glare.

"Yuuri…" Wolfram whispered shakily. "Please…..please wake up….you have to fight this!"

Elberich only smiled coldly and continued to take amusement from Wolfram's retreat. He continued to stalk Wolfram until the demon prince found himself back up against the wall with nowhere to run.

An invisible force shoved Wolfram against the wall. The force grew until Wolfram was slowly being crushed under the weight. Wolfram was slowly lifted from the ground until his toes scraped at the floor beneath him. A pair of unseen hands twined around his neck and began to slowly strangle him. Wolfram choked and gasped, he tried to move his arms but they were useless. All the while, Elberich just stared at him, satisfied and gleeful at watching Wolfram gradually asphyxiate.

Meanwhile, Wolfram's family watched in horror. Conrad and Gwendal watched helplessly as their younger brother was killed before their eyes. There was nothing they could do to stand against Elberich. They were at a loss.

In a moment of clarity, Gwendal remembered the pocketknife he always kept in the inner pocket of his coat. He carefully reached in and sure enough, there it was, folding neatly where it had always been. An idea came to Gwendal but it was faulty. Would a knife succeed where their best magic had not?

But it was all they had. Elberich had to be stopped. All the magic and soothsaying couldn't defeat him, perhaps if they played to his mortal body, they could break his link to their world.

Gwendal unfolded the knife and brandished it. He could feel the cold smooth wood of the handle in his palm as he tightened his grip and stood with renewed determination. He would die, he knew that much. It was slim chances that any of them would survive. But if he could take down the enemy, then there would be hope for their kingdom.

Gwendal's forte was not knife fighting. His knowledge was simply a mastery of the basics as was his knowledge of anatomy. His actions relied on speed and surprise. While Elberich was distracted, he would have to go in for the quick kill. A stab to the side to immobilize him and then a slash to the throat. If he executed it right, Gwendal could finally end everything.

He staggered to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder and legs where a piece of shrapnel had embedded itself into his thigh. Elberich's back was to him, an open target that he just needed to get close enough too and the rest would fall into place.

Gwendal forced himself to look away from his baby brother's pale face. He hoped that he would be able to save him at the very least as long as he kept Elberich's attention directed at him.

Wolfram's struggling was slowing down as he grew faint from lack of air. Gwendal could hear Wolfram choking out various curses and pleas to Yuuri.

"Yuuri…wimp! Wake up!" Gwendal heard his brother cry out weakly. "Please…wake up…_ Yuuri!"_

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What is it?"

The homunculus suddenly jumped to his feet. He stared intensely into the distance at the growing tear in the atmosphere.

"I think…someone called me…" The creature whispered, fixated on some distant point.

"Called you?" Elberich also rose from his perch on the ground. They had sat in silence for what felt like hours as the creature forced himself to relax and remember his true name.

"Someone called me!" the homunculus exclaimed. "Someone called my name!"

"What did they call you?" Elberich asked urgently.

"I…don't know!" The creature whined in frustration. "I want them to call me again!"

The creature stared out intently into the distance. The rift swirled and tumbled just ahead of him. During the brief flashes of lightening, he could see the figures of the dead souls scrambling towards their escape and two larger figures– maybe the twin death gods – subduing them and pushing them back into the abyss.

"Listen closely," Elberich whispered behind the creature.

Subduing a soft whine, the creature went silent. He willed the voice – or sound – to call out to him again.

A feeling of urgency pulled at the creature's gut. A growing sense of dread welled up inside him. He felt like he should be rushing somewhere, like he was needed elsewhere and was wasting time in purgatory. However, he didn't know why or where he so strongly needed to go. So he planted his feet in the ground, fighting the urge to just start running in a straight line towards the rift and waited.

There!

It made no sound, he didn't hear his name, but he felt the call. The creature could sense that something or someone was drawing him closer and they were desperately in need of him.

'Call me again!' the creature thought desperately. 'Call my name again!'

Time stood still. Everything was silent. The creature narrowed his gaze and continued to will the voice to call him again.

'_Yuuri!'_

The voice cut through the abyss and into creature's mind. It tore at his insides and invisibly yanked him forward. Not needing another coax, the creature took off running, ignoring the surprised shout from Elberich behind him.

'I know that voice!' the creature thought, but he couldn't place where the voice came from.

'_Yuuri…wake up! Please!'_

'Where are you?' The creature shouted in his mind. He growled in annoyance at his stubborn amnesia. He knew that voice. He knew it! But for the life of him, he couldn't place it. The name it uttered over and over again held no meaning for him. No images came, no memories, but _he knew that voice_.

The rift loomed over the creature just ahead of them, the souls crowded around the space waiting for their chance to escape. They saw the soulless creature running and saw their opportunity to take physical form. They reached out to him with cold hands and dragged him to the ground.

The creature screamed as they yanked him to the ground and fought for the right to steal his body. He bit and punched at anything that came within reach. He tried to push past the heaving crowd. When their icy hands touched him, it was complete torture. Every sin and tragedy that had ever befallen them came rushing into the creature's mind, tearing it to shreds as they fought to claim him for themselves.

Murderers, rapists, thieves, false accusations, wars, slaughters, famine, natural disasters, wrong executions – every tragic event that could ever be imagined came pouring into the creature's mind. The homunculus felt himself being torn, being absorbed into their suffering and losing his sense of connection to his own conscience. He fought as hard as he could, but for every memory and emotion he pushed away more would take their place.

Between the groping hands and twisted faces, the creature looked up into the rift. The dark grey clouds swirled around the rift and revealed the dark void between dimensions. It was utterly black and seemed to absorb what little light was around it from the lightening.

Suddenly the creature wasn't being pinned to the ground. He was standing upright in a dark place, facing a wall where a strangely familiar person was suspended against the wall, looking at him with fear and desperation. The person was mouthing something to him, like a plea. But he couldn't hear what he was saying.

'I know that face…..'

The image was gone and he was back on the ground fighting for his life. But he couldn't shake the sight of that person. The image flashed by so quickly, the creature had to wonder if he actually saw anything or if it was just an illusion.

"Get off me!" The creature shrieked, kicking at a random ghoul's face .he hapless soul screeched in rage but scampered away to make room for more souls that wanted to take his body.

The creature heard Elberich shout above the mayhem. He saw out of the corner of his vision, the cursed man pushing past the mob and trying to come to his aid. The man violently yanked back other souls to give the creature the chance, but even he was quickly overwhelmed by the chaos.

Just as suddenly, the creature was pulled back into the vision of before. He was standing in the hall, the same person was still being crushed by an invisible force against the wall in front of him, but this time, he heard the person call out to him with his last breath.

"_Yuuri…stop! Please!...I-I love you!"_ The plea was so broken, a last ditch effort to finally reach out to him past the overwhelming negative emotion that surrounded him.

'I know you…'

The creature saw the twin gods appear above the riot. With scythes in hand, they cut away at the rebelling souls, who screamed in pain and scattered off. Utter pandemonium erupted around the creature as he continued to stare into the vision and watch the person who meant the most to him slowly die by his own hands.

"Wolf…ram?" The creature choked.

"_Yuuri!"_ _Wolfram _choked. His movements slowed and stopped as the lack of oxygen was completely cut off by the force holding him against the wall.

'No…..no….leave him alone!'

It was him. Rather, it was his body and his powers being used to slowly kill those who meant everything to him. Someone else had taken over his mind and his body and was using him as a weapon. He watched helplessly as his powers were turned against the ones he loved.

"_Yuuri!"_

"_Your Majesty!"_

"_Yuu-chan?"_

"_Shibuya."_

"_Wimp!"_

Like a floodgate bursting open, the rush of feelings and images attached to them overtook the creature's mind. Faces, places, names, and people flashed before the creature's mind and quickly formed a coherent order that revealed his true origin. The epiphany of memories pushed past the images forced on him by the other souls and the creature finally began to remember.

He was a boy from a place called Japan who got flushed down a toilet to another world where he was declared the demon king. He was reluctant, but treated it as a new adventure. He met many people from many different walks of life. He wanted to be a good king, so he did what he could to help them. He didn't want war so he made allies out of enemies, much to the shock of his subjects, but he did it anyway. He was gifted with a great and mysterious power that would take over him when he became upset or angry, but he never ever allowed that power to kill anyone. He was happy, but stressed, he felt a new sense of purpose that he hadn't before now that he could change people's lives for the better.

But as time went on, he became tired and jaded. His naiveté and innocence no longer had a place in the world of monarchies and politics. Everything he did felt like a shallow mockery of what he used to be. He treated everything with the same level of apathy and none of the passion. However, he never knew why. He could only feel that he was not as complete as he thought he was. Something had been missing…. something was not meshing inside him. He felt like two people and no one at the same time. He only felt like half of a person and it slowly destroyed the happiness he once had.

He had stopped caring…and that was why the darkness was able to get in. It took him at his weakest and most dispirited and made him into a tool to exact its revenge.

He wouldn't let it succeed. He wouldn't let it win. He would take back control of his body and his life.

With a determined shout, the creature – his name was Yuuri! – shoved past the grasping hands with renewed strength. Sariel and Samael fought the souls back and began to close the rift. The energy had changed. It was reacting a new presence in it midst. It shifted and groaned and twisted away from the rift – and from the Demon King.

Sparks of energy ghosted around Yuuri's trembling hands as he defied the laws of the Afterlife and summoned his magic from another dimension through sheer force of will. A wave of magic energy burst out from him and threw back any remaining souls that tried to take his body.

Acting on instinct and the will to take back what was rightfully his, Yuuri reached past the rift and into the world of the living. He saw through his eyes – his actual eyes – at the carnage before him. He saw his limbs acting of their own accord to hurt his family. He would have none of that.

He forced his way past the barrier the thing that was Elberich's malice had created to block him. Elberich's dark power sensed his presence and sneered in hate at him. It fought him as he tried to literally push it out of his body and cut off its access to his power.

"You have robbed me of my magic for too long!" Yuuri hissed at the thing, too angry to be frightened of the dark miasma.

The dark entity hissed back. "You let me in!"

Yuuri couldn't argue. "Yes. I did. I was weak and let you take away everything that mattered to me and destroy it. But I'm taking control back."

"You are just a puppet!" It sneered. "You were always just a tool."

"No, I'm not," Yuuri retorted. His magic pulsed which made the entity recoil slightly. "I started out that way. But the memories I've made, the things I have done and the people I have come to love – you can't take that away from me. No one can. I am and always will be the Demon King. You are an imposter!"

Dark Elberich screeched. Yuuri dove in headfirst, his power blazing around him as he and the entity fought for dominance. There was no place for strategy or thought, only brute force and will. Yuuri forced his way back into his body, feeling the familiar energy of his water magic welcome him home from its imprisonment. He twisted himself around the dark miasma, encasing it in his own magic to subdue it. The spectre struggled and Yuuri fought to maintain control. They both tumbled and wrestled in the void, each trying to take the other by force, though Yuuri was gradually gaining the upper hand. He couldn't let Elberich win. He couldn't let his family and friends down anymore than he already had.

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Wolfram felt the last of his life drain away from him.

'This is it…I'm going to die…'

He gave one last look to the man he loved more than anything. Yuuri's face, which had once been so open and friendly, was now twisted in a malicious grin as he watched Wolfram die.

They had tried so hard to save Yuuri, to protect him from this very thing. But they had no idea the awful secret hidden away inside their king. They were naïve, unprepared, and utterly useless in the face of Elberich's vengeance.

Over Elberich's shoulder, Wolfram noticed movement. Gwendal was making his way towards them, a small blade in his hand poised for attack. Wolfram cried in his mind. They really had no choice. Yuuri was lost to them and now it was a matter of saving what was left of their home.

The chance was slim. If Elberich saw Gwendal then all would be lost, even then it was no guarantee that they would succeed. Elberich seemed untouchable. It was laughable that a pocketknife would succeed where the strongest of magic had not.

But if he could manage to distract him.

What little air he could inhale, Wolfram tried to call out to the entity.

"Please…stop!" He choked.

Elberich only smiled. It was obvious he could have killed Wolfram much quicker had he wanted to. But he was apparently entertained by Wolfram's emotional begging and perked up when the prince tried to reach to a person who longer existed.

"Yuuri…I know you're there….you have to fight him! ….we need you…I need you!"

Wolfram saw Gwendal move closer. Just a few more feet and he would have a clear shot.

This was Wolfram's last chance to say what he had always wanted to say to his fiancé.

"Yuuri…I love you so much…I never…felt that way…about anyone…I only wanted…you to feel the same…"

Elberich only sneered in disgust at the overdramatic display. Seeming to grow bored with it all, Elberich tightened his grip, effectively crushing Wolfram's windpipe.

All air cut off and with tears stinging his eyes, Wolfram fell into oblivion with the grinning face of his former fiancé as the last thing he would ever see.

'Yuuri…I forgive you…'

And then, Wolfram could suddenly breathe.

The demon prince was unceremoniously dropped to the ground. He fell into a heap, choking and gagging as his body gulped large amounts of air. He felt dizzy and disoriented, his mind was blank and unaware of what was unfolding before him.

Elberich had faltered. The possessed demon king's body curled over onto itself in intense pain. It begin to jerk and writhe on the ground as if the were two opposing forces pulling in opposite directions. Its limbs bent in unnatural angles, cracking and straining under the pressure. It was grotesque to watch.

With Wolfram out of the way and Elberich suddenly indisposed, Gwendal saw his opportunity. There was no time to wonder as to why their enemy had abruptly collapsed, Gwendal had his opening.

Gwendal rushed forward, brandishing his knife while Elberich's back was turned. Gwendal had been in many battles where he relied on weapons and fighting tactics it win and not his earth magic. He was very well acquainted with knife fighting and had killed his share of enemies on the battlefield. His mind fell into the cold, single-mindedness of a practiced soldier and he plunged the knife as hard as he could between Elberich's ribs.

Elberich – Yuuri, his king and once future brother-in-law – convulsed. Blood came gushing through the fabric of his tattered shirt but Gwendal wasn't done. Just was quickly, he grabbed a handful of matted hair and yanked the wretched spectre's head back as far as it would go and he sliced cleanly into the exposed throat.

Gwendal swore. At the very last second the body writhed in his grip and the cut was off. The cut was deep but survivable and now Elberich's angered stare was turned to him. He had failed.

Gwendal was thrown across the hall from a blast of Elberich's energy. He landed onto the hard ground and heard the crack of his skull hitting the stone floor. He fell into unconsciousness with the knowledge that he had wasted his only chance of saving them all.

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Yuuri gained the advantage.

Elberich's dark power was faltering and Yuuri dived in with his own magic and took the offensive. Elberich screamed in frustration and retaliated with panicked blows and surges of pure energy. Yuuri fought to remain calm and fortified his magic against this last desperate attack.

Elberich's strength came from the years of suffering and hatred of his kin. That negativity had formed into its own being over time with no sense of reasoning or thought, it only had the ability to over take Yuuri's own power through his possession of part of Elberich's soul. But without its own mind, that malice was at a disadvantage with Yuuri, who had regained his memories and thus, his will and conscience. Yuuri was the stronger spirit and he would inevitably win.

"You have no power here!" Yuuri shouted as he gave one last heave that dispelled Elberich form his body and from their world for good. "You have no power over me!"

Elberich continued to scream and fight, coming to the realization that he was losing.

"Go back to the abyss! Go back and face your final judgment at the hands of the death gods! Never come back. I am your king and you will obey me!"

The entity gave one final wail before it imploded on itself. The void where they fought began to absorb the entity that clawed and fought as the inky blackness dragged him to the unknown.

Yuuri stood triumphant and powerful, watching his enemy be dragged to the halls of the Damned under Samael's rule. The spectre of Elberich would no longer be able to sneak his way into the world of the living and threaten his kingdom ever again.

When the spectre was carried away into the abyss, Yuuri gained his consciousness and found himself back in his own body.

Disoriented and surprised, Yuuri fell to his knees and felt the cold hard ground beneath him.

He was in one of the main halls just beyond the main entrance. Dizzy and confused, He looked around the area at the complete mess that surrounded him. Broken glass, torn tapestries and drapes, random broken object thrown from other areas of the castle lay around him. This was not the pristine palace he knew so well. This was a disaster zone.

Yuuri felt himself grow weak. Something warm and wet oozed down his neck and chest. A shaky hand reached up to touch the strange liquid and lift it to his face. Yuuri barely registered his own blood dripping down his hand and the dull pain from the slash across his throat and the stab on his side before he fell sideways as he grew weak from blood loss.

Yuuri absently noticed his godfather running towards him from his right. He barely heard the distant voices of his advisor, Dr. Marko, and several other voices that he recognized but couldn't name, hysterically calling out his name.

'I did all that….just to die…'He thought mournfully.

A cloth was pressed against the gash on his neck. More shouting, someone rolled him onto his back. Yuuri saw shadows of people rapidly moving around him and yelling some more. His head fell to the side and the last thing he saw before he was pulled back into the darkness was his fiancé – his Wolfram - laying passed out on the floor next to him.

'At least….Wolfram is safe….Everyone is safe now…"

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Chapter 21!

Oh Em Gee! This was probably the hardest chapter to write. It had to have to right sense of drama and action with the right amount of pacing. I don't know how well I pulled it off, but I did my best and hope it was enjoyable.

And now, my readers, we've come to the end! We only have one chapter left where everything will be wrapped up and the aftermath of Elberich's reign of terror will be discussed.

Thank you all so much for your continued support and feedback. I can't believe it's been almost two years since I started this fic. You have all been with me from the start and I can't thank all of you enough.

Please review! I can't wait to hear what you guys have to say about this chapter. I worked really hard on it.

Thanks! EB


	22. Chapter 22 Recovery

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya

Thank you everyone for the reviews! We have finally come to the end of our saga. I hope you all had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. Your reviews and words of encouragement have kept me going for three years (THREE). Through all the hardships, good times, and tragedies. You guys have always been a wonderful source of support and enthusiasm. For that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And with that, I bring you the first half of the final chapter of The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 22 – The Final Day – Recovery

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Yuuri found himself back at the grey shores of the River Styx – much to his dismay.

'I died…I really died this time,' he thought.

"Back again, are we?"

Yuuri turned to see the ferryman hunched over in his dingy little boat, smiling at him.

"I…guess so…" Yuuri said.

The ferryman moved over for Yuuri to take a seat in his boat. Yuuri obliged and as he settled into his spot, the ferryman pushed the boat away form the shore and lazily steered them down the river.

"That was quite a show you put on," The ferryman said chattily. "Caused quite a stir down here. I wish you had seen the ghosts that failed to escape through the rift in time. They were absolutely livid, till Samael set their feet ablaze!" The ferryman chuckled. "Samael was always the shortest tempered of the two. He has no patience for the souls of the dead. Especially the damned ones."

"I'm sorry to have caused such trouble," Yuuri said quietly.

The ferryman waved him off. "Pish! This place gets boring. You gave us something to do for once! I haven't been this busy going up and down the Styx taking newly dead souls to purgatory in eons."

Yuuri felt extremely guilty. He knew exactly what the ferryman was referring to. He could see the souls along the river dressed in the peasant clothing of Shin Makoku. The styles were modern.

"Where there many causalities of Elberich's destruction?" Yuuri dared to ask.

"Not as bad as past events, but a solid number," The ferryman replied as if they weren't talking about the victims of Yuuri's uncontrolled power. "The endless storm caused many mudslides and floods. Most have died from natural disasters, though none by your – or Elberich's – hand."

"That isn't very comforting," Yuuri mumbled.

"No, I guess it ain't," The ferryman sighed and they were quiet for the rest of the trip.

The sky, earth, and river were the same silvery grey and fused together as they continued their journey down the river. Yuuri could see the heavy fog that covered the land and the dark shadows of wandering souls darting in and out of his vision. He noted that the place was much calmer now and the spirits were docile.

"We're here," the ferryman muttered, positioning the little boat to bank on the river's edge.

The quiet sound of the hull grinding against the sand cut through the silence as Yuuri slowly got up from his seat. The ferryman watched him step onto the beach and right in front of the two Death gods. Immediately, from a fuzzy corner of his memory, Yuuri identified the two gods as Sariel and Samael. He also remembered having white skin on a featureless body but quickly dismissed the recollection.

Yuuri steadily met the two twin gods. He wasn't sure what was proper etiquette when addressing the gods of the afterlife, but he nodded in greeting finding himself unable to really talk and waited for them to break the uneasy silence.

"Well, look who's back!" Samael broke the quiet with a wide grin. "That was quite the grand ending to an arduous journey! Well done!"

Yuuri was thrown off by Samael's easy nature. For someone who dealt exclusively with the dead, Samael was disturbingly cheerful despite being surrounded by sorrow and regret. Unlike Sariel, who embodied the sullen attitude of the guardian of Purgatory.

"You did very well," Sariel agreed.

"Am I really dead?" Yuuri asked fearfully.

"In a way…." Samael began, though he didn't continue, instead letting his brother explain.

"Technically, you are," Sariel said slowly. "Your soul evacuated your body and fled here as all souls instinctively do."

"Your body took very severe abuse," Samael cut in. "From the medicine, the attacks, and now, a knife wound to your neck and side. Your body is unfit to house your soul."

"But I just got my own soul!" Yuuri protested. "I took back my body and became a full being! I stopped Elberich and saved my kingdom. I wasn't supposed to die!"

"There was no guarantee you would survive even if you succeeded," Sariel said. "Souls have an inherent response to leave their body the instant it becomes uninhabitable. Even without the added knife wound, your body was still unfit to keep your soul inside it."

"W-what happened to my body?" Yuuri asked, though he was dreading the answer.

"We will show you," Samael said, ignoring the disproving stare of his brother.

"We are not allowed to do that," Sariel scolded, though he made no move to stop him.

"This is a special occasion," Samael said dismissively, and held out his hand over the ground before him and a pedestal with a basin atop it slowly rose from the dirt.

Samael gestured for Yuuri to look into the silvery water. Hesitantly, Yuuri peeked over the edge as the water began to swirl and he found himself looking into his bedroom in Blood Pledge Castle at his frail self lying unconscious on the massive bed.

Yuuri couldn't hold back the gasp. That was really him. He couldn't recognize himself, he looked nothing like he was supposed to. The frail little wraith buried under blankets was not him. He could see the translucent skin pulled over sharp cheekbones, evidence of his near starvation during the transformation, he could see the scratches and bruises that decorated his arms and the collar of bandages that hid the slice to his throat that nearly killed him.

"That…can't be me," Yuuri whispered.

Sariel nodded solemnly. "Your body and mind have been ravaged by Elberich, angry ghouls, and the misguided attempts of your retainers. Most mortals would have died much sooner, but you have managed to hang on this long."

"But, if I'm dead, why am I not in the morgue?" Yuuri pointed out. Certainly, the body in his bed looked like it was quite dead if not on death's door.

"You've fallen into a deep sleep," Sariel explained. "You teeter on the edge of making that final transition to the afterlife, however, your bonds to your family and friends are keeping your soul from breaking free of its earthly home."

The mention of his friends sparked a sense of urgency in Yuuri. "Where are they? Are they alright?"

"They are beaten and exhausted, but they are alive," Sariel said.

"Let me see them!" Yuuri demanded, pointing to the basin. "I need to see them!"

Wordlessly, Sariel waved his hand over the basin and the image changed. Yuuri looked into the castle infirmary where Conrad, Gwendal and the others where patching themselves up and talking. Yuuri became downtrodden when he saw that they were seated around one of the narrow beds upon which Wolfram rested, looking more roughed up than the others.

Yuuri reached out a shaky hand to touch the image of the youngest demon prince, but hesitated. Wolfram looked so weak and frail, nothing like the proud, strong demon prince that Yuuri had relied on for so long. To see Wolfram like that – to see his closest friends like that – filled Yuuri with grief and a soul-crushing guilt that he had been the one who nearly destroyed everyone who meant the most to him.

"It's all my fault," he whispered sadly.

"I would say it isn't but your origin made such a thing inevitable," Samael sighed. "Your existence is the culmination of several powerful sources that would fight for dominance."

"A power such as yours should have never existed," Sariel said with a frown. "This happens when lesser being try to emulate the gods in all the wrong ways."

Yuuri nodded, though he only had a vague understanding of his true origin. Slowly, the images were coming together in his mind, but they were still distant as if he were recalling someone else's memories, though he was inexorably connected to them.

"What am I?" He whispered, watching the vision in the basin melt and swirl until it was just a bowl of water.

"Something not of this world, something not meant to have existed for this long," Sariel said, staring intently at Yuuri. "That really the best we can tell you. It isn't even accurate to say that you are a hybrid of demon and human blood nor a Verschmelzung. You have evolved into something more that you alone can define at this point."

"It is clear what you have been, but not what you are now," Samael added, studying Yuuri intently. "Or what you will be."

"That doesn't help me!" Yuuri couldn't help but whine, despite being in the presence of gods.

"That because it is up to you to define your existence," Sariel said. "What you were doesn't matter anymore. You are now what you are and no one can tell you how to exist because there's been nothing like you. The question remains, what will you do with this new existence and the power it has given you?"

"I don't want this power!" Yuuri protested, turning to face the gods. "I never wanted this power. I never even really wanted to be king!"

"Then why did you agree to be king?" Sariel asked him evenly.

That stopped Yuuri for a moment. He had never questioned why he agreed to be king three years ago. His fifteen year old self had simply regarded everything as a role-playing game, never stopping to think of what he was actually doing. As time went on, it sunk in that these were real people with real problems who really did rely on Yuuri to lead and protect them. He had treated everything with the same level of shallow childishness and never stopped to think of what he was really doing until it was too late and his fate had been permanently intertwined with that of the Demon kingdom. Yuuri didn't even have control over his magic, letting his alternate self – now known to be the essence of Elberich – do all the heavy lifting and conflict.

"I…didn't agree…" Yuuri said finally. "I just let it happen. I let everything simply happen. I reacted to the things around me, but I never actually took initiative."

"You allowed instinct to control your actions," Sariel added. "But rarely your own mind. You were just a child really."

"I can't be a child anymore," Yuuri whispered. "I can't go on just reacting to things, I should've done more to protect myself and everyone."

Samael shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's over with and done. What remains now is what you plan to do."

"What?" Yuuri asked fearfully.

"Do you want to live, Yuuri? Or do you wish to remain here and allow your soul to go through its final judgment and hopefully find peace?" Sariel laid out Yuuri's final choice.

"I…I don't know," Yuuri said in a broken voice. "I'm scared."

"What brought you back to your world the first time?" Samael tried to help. "What made you cross time and space to return to the living world?"

"Wolfram…" Yuuri said without hesitation. "And the desire to save my family."

"Then let that be what helps you decide what to do with this life and the power you have been given."

All fell silent. Yuuri stared at the ground and then into the basin. The water produced no more images and remained still, only providing Yuuri with his own reflection and no answers.

What was the logic in going back? If he went back to Shin Makoku, he would be back with his old life of responsibility, danger, and exhaustion. He would have to face a practically destroyed kingdom and a long and painful recovery with little prospect of ever regaining control – if he had any – of a mysterious power that no one knew. He didn't even know if he would even be accepted as king after his own magic nearly crippled an entire nation and its allies. The worth of going back was little and would be hard won.

If he stayed, he would be judged after being made to wander in this grey limbo for an indefinite amount of time. He would be judged on his failure to at least attempt to fix the what he had ruined for everyone and the kingdom. This place was not for him. He didn't belong. Really, he didn't belong anywhere.

The recovery would be long and painful. Yuuri had no idea what lay ahead of him and that was terrifying. He was some strange hybrid creature that should never have existed. If he went back he would be faced with the destruction of his land and the anger of his people. Conrad, Wolfram, and the others had given so much for so little. Yuuri was a failure and would likely continue to be a failure if he returned and succumbed to the madness that was his new power.

They were better off without him.

"I'm….staying here," Yuuri said, though it was a whimper. "They don't deserve a freak like me."

Sariel nodded solemnly, but there was disappointment in his eyes. "Very well, you will wander Purgatory until your final judgment. May you find peace."

Fighting back tears, Yuuri turned to face the grey wasteland that would be his home for centuries. He was frightened of what lay ahead, but at least he would give his friends a chance to recover and find a better suited leader. Shinou had been gravely mistaken when he chose Yuuri and now here was the chance to correct that mistake.

"I would like to point out," Samael said, cutting through Yuuri's thoughts and ignoring the sharp stare from his brother. "That souls that chose to wander in Purgatory often find themselves trapped if they leave behind unfinished business or unresolved conflicts. You must be absolutely sure that you can cut all ties with the living before you can receive judgment."

Yuuri grimaced. Samael's statement got to him. There was no single good choice. He could remain here and wander endlessly, possibly being consumed by his own guilt and failure as a monarch or he could return to his body and be consumed by his guilt and failure as a monarch but with the added bonus of possibly being resented by his subjects and friends for the rest of his life.

There was no good choice for him. There was no point.

Yuuri remembered a saying that the easy path was often the wrong path. He could simply let it all go and just remain in purgatory, but it would leave him unfulfilled and lost. Without the trials and tribulations of royalty, he was free and but could never find rest knowing that he abandoned everything for his own selfish need for peace. But he would never find peace either way. Both choices presented a miserable path, but only one offered a chance of redemption.

What had been the ultimate mistake in all of this? What was the single underlying point that defined both Shinou's, Elberich's and now Yuuri's choices in life?

They had never taken responsibility for their actions. Elberich was under the control of witches and his own brother's greed. Shinou had been under the influence of his father's ambition and bigotry and neither brother had ever had the strength to fight against what was wrong – they had just let things happen and their own selfish desires – Shinou's conquests and Elberich's desire for acceptance – define them.

Yuuri had been no different. He had spent his entire reign as king _reacting_, using his naivety as a crutch to do things that were free of responsibility and mature thinking. He had been blessed with a gross amount of good luck, but even he should have known that it would not last. And that good luck came at the cost of others, but he had been too caught up to be bothered by their efforts. That is what made him lose control and that is what caused all this destruction.

But where Elberich and Shinou had failed, Yuuri would succeed. He could try at the very least, to right his wrongs and try to set things back to the way they were meant to be.

"Wait…" Yuuri said sharply, turning away from the grey land. "Can I change my mind?"

"No, you - "

"Of course you can!" Samael said happily, drowning out Sariel's "damn it, Samael!"

"This is the place of reckoning and redemption," Samael said as a small rift began to form behind him, revealing the much more appealing landscape of Shin Makoku. "If he can reckon his actions and find his redemption in the living world, then he should be allowed to do so."

"This goes against our laws, Samael!" Sariel hissed. "Once the decision is made it can't be undone!"

"Older brother," Samael said with a long suffering sigh. "He is neither human nor demon, though he has a soul. It can be argued that his existence alone goes against our laws. Besides, I think he has earned a second chance."

Yuuri smiled widely at the younger god. "Thank you."

"Now go!" Samael said, pointing to the rift. "Much has to be done to repair the Great Demon Kingdom. Prove to us that your powers can be used for the greater good!"

"I will!" Yuuri said, a determined look on his face. "You won't regret this!"

"I don't think we will," Samael smiled. "Will we, Sariel?"

"Not like you care for my opinion anyway…" Sariel grumbled.

Not wasting another moment, Yuuri's soul stepped through the rift and in a small flash of light, he and the rift were gone, leaving the two gods standing alone on the banks of the river Styx in silence.

After staring at the place where the rift used to be, Sariel turned to his younger brother, who returned the disapproving stare evenly.

"You know that souls who return to their bodies never remember why they chose to return?" Sariel said, crossing his arms.

"This is the final journey for every soul," Samael replied. "They are not meant to go back. His consciousness and his surrounding world will demand his attention so he will not be able to recall this conversation. But in his heart, he will know what he is meant to do."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gunter stood wearily outside the king's bedroom, trying to collect his racing thoughts.

It had only been a few hours since Elberich had finally been defeated. At least, that is what it seemed like. Gunter could only understand that Gwendal had stabbed their precious king to stop him from killing Lord Bielefeld amidst a swirl of wind, debris, and crackling blue magic only for everything to come to a screeching halt as the broken body of King Yuuri collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood.

Gunter remembered Conrad calling for the few remaining guards in the area to help them. Two stretchers were brought for Bielefeld and King Yuuri. Gunter had remained in a stupor, propped against a wall surrounded by fallen glass and overturned furniture as the two prone bodies were patched up and placed on the stretchers and carried off to different places – King Yuuri to his chamber and Bielefeld to the infirmary along with a beaten Conrad and exhausted Gilbert.

Now Gunter stood as Marko, and a few assistants worked frantically to save the king's life. As much as he resented Marko, Gunter couldn't help but be thankful that the doctor was there as his adopted daughter was stranded in the Christ territory and unable to offer her assistance. Despite being a difficult man, Marko was unarguably skilled at mending wounds, a testament to his previous work as a military doctor.

King Yuuri lay prone on the bed. His entire body was pale grey except for the angry red welts where Marko had quickly stitched the gashes in his neck and side. Piles of bloody cloths and bandages lay all around as Marko put the finishing touches on the wounds.

"You did what you had to do," Gunter said to the brooding general beside him.

Gwendal had stood still and silent as a statue, mouth pressed into a thin line as he watched the doctor try to reverse the damage he had done to their king. What Gwendal did would be seen as an attempt on the king's life and be punishable by death. His last effort to save his family should have failed, but something working in concurrence with his actions had stopped Elberich from winning. Despite there being no choice, Gunter could still feel the guilt and worry rolling off of the bigger man in waves.

"It will be a miracle if he survives the night," Gwendal whispered forlornly. "I meant to kill him."

"But you didn't," Gunter replied. "And what you did was an act of desperation. Anyone of us would have done the same."

"But still…"

"But nothing!" Gunter cut Gwendal off. "There were no more options at that point. It came down to saving the kingdom or letting Elberich massacre all of us."

"Wolfram will never forgive me," Gwendal muttered, eyes fixed on Marko finishing up his work.

"He – and Yuuri – will understand," Gunter insisted.

Both men fell silent when Marko stood up from his place and walked over to them with a stony expression on his face. An unspoken agreement had occurred between them. Marko's role in this drama had done more harm than good, but he was no longer considered the cause of their predicament. He had been just as ignorant as any of them and used his skills in the way he thought necessary. Now he stood, an old man beaten and bruised, still committed to helping their king despite his own narrow-mindedness. They couldn't fault him for that.

"How is he?" Gunter was the first to speak.

Marko looked back to where the king lay. He seemed to struggle a little with how to explain the current situation to them. With a sigh, he turned around to face the two men.

"He is…stable," Marko said slowly. "The wounds to his side and throat were severe-" He paused when Gwendal visibly cringed. "- But they were not fatal, though barely. If he survives the night then his survival will be assured."

Both Gwendal and Gunter relaxed despite Marko's still bleak prognosis. If Yuuri's chance of survival was higher than his chance of dying, then they would have hope that their young monarch would pull through.

Gunter noticed a movement on the bed and pointed towards the king in alarm. "What's happening?"

Marko spun around and was instantly at the king's side. King Yuuri had begun to shake rapidly under the covers and what little color there had been in his face had drained away, leaving him white as a corpse covered in a waxy thin sheet of sweat.

Holding his hand over the king's body, Marko closed his eyes in concentration and the unusual yellow glow of healing magic formed around his leathery hand. After a couple of minutes that felt like eternity, he withdrew his hand and the yellow glow dissipated.

"Well?" Gunter almost shouted.

Marko looked puzzled for a bit, but gathered himself and replied. "He….his body, really, seems to be going through the change. Apparently, this paranormal entity prevented his body from making the necessary adaptations and now that it is gone, his body can complete the transformation."

"Will this affect his recovery?" Gwendal asked.

"I really do not know," Marko said sadly. "We will have to see how he fairs in the morning. Right now, we must all focus on getting our own rest."

* * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, Conrad and the others sat in the infirmary dressing their wounds and trying to calm their nerves from the most harrowing battle of their lives.

Conrad sat in a rickety chair as an aid wrapped a bandage around his arm where a piece of glass had drawn a deep gash from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. The wound had already been stitched and now the bandages and balm would keep it clean and protected. Conrad winced when the aid tied the bandage off tightly and with a slight bow, scurried off the gather his tools and see to the other patients.

Conrad watched the bustling activity before him. The infirmary was full of servants, soldiers and anyone else unlucky enough to have been caught in the melee of Elberich's attack. Alphonse, Gilbert, and Murata all sat near Conrad, waiting for their turn to be seen once the healing aids had taken care of the more severe cases.

Conrad absently reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind a sleeping Wolfram's ear to distract himself from the chaos.

Wolfram shifted slightly in his sleep at the soft touch. For the hundredth time, Conrad thanked the Great One that his brother had survived the attack. A nasty purple ring of bruises marred his brother's pale neck, but that small bone beneath his chin that meant instant death should it break was untouched.

Greta was in the cot next to Wolfram, worriedly watching the unfolding activity around her in silence. She would occasionally glance at her unconscious father but quickly return to staring at the busy staff, her young mind trying to reconcile what had just happened in the past few hours.

"Is it finally over?"

Conrad looked up at the young lieutenant seated just beyond him. Alphonse stared blankly at the floor, his hand mindlessly toying with the frayed edges of the bandage wrapped around his arm. The poor fire wielder looked positively drained and ready to collapse, but he held strong.

"Is the kingdom safe again?" Alphonse asked, slowly looking up from the floor.

"I believe so," Conrad said. "I do not feel the same dark aura that was hanging around the palace before we confronted Elberich. I think it is finally over."

"Will King Yuuri be alright?" Alphonse's voice was laced with worry.

If Yuuri didn't survive this, then all their sacrifices were for nothing. "I hope so. Marko, Gwendal, and Gunter saw after him when they took him away."

"When Elberich fell, I sensed a second stronger spirit take over the king's body before…Lord Voltaire intervened," Gilbert spoke up from his chair some distance beyond Alphonse. "There's a good chance that King Yuuri was able to overpower Elberich's spectre, but it remains if his soul will chose to remain in his body with it being in such a dismal state."

"You mean after all this, he could still die?" Alphonse said angrily. "All our lives were risked for nothing?"

Gilbert shook his head. "The goal was to save the king and stop the evil entity. We did both, but the damage has been done. Now it remains if the king will be able to survive and adapt to his new existence."

"What new existence?" Conrad asked.

"The fact remains that he is still a Verschmelzung and that he has not completed the change." Gilbert explained. "For most, it would be too much and his soul would reject the body. But if he was able to overcome Elberich's power and reclaim his bod, then there is a chance that he may chose to remain with us."

"It also remains to be seen in what state his mind will be…"

Everyone looked up to where Murata stood, lacking the dignity and mystery that was so integral to his persona as the Sage. Disheveled and drained, Murata moved to sit in the last unoccupied chair.

"When Elberich went through the transformation, it left his mind broken," Murata explained. "Even before he was bound by the witches' magic, the change left him disoriented and unstable, both mentally and emotionally. I remember the haunted look in his eyes whenever a vision would take him or when he used his magic. Without any idea on who or what he was, Elberich was lost."

Gilbert nodded. "Deep down, we Verschmelzungs know we are not of this world and we do not naturally belong. That is something King Yuuri will have to reconcile within himself if he is to recover and live a healthy life."

"He will," Conrad said firmly. "He will have us by his side and we will not let him fall."

Gilbert smiled gently. "I'm happy to hear that. For he will need all of you to keep his mind grounded in reality."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram woke to a sore throat and a bunch of other aches and pains he couldn't pinpoint.

Cursing in his mind, he weakly pushed away the pile of blankets on top of him, wondering where his favored satin sheets and duvet were instead of these itchy potato sack blankets that were way too hot. He blinked slowly at the sudden rush of light and tried to turn onto his side to get away from the intrusive glare of the ceiling lamp directly above him.

No sooner had he shifted than his ears were assaulted by the worried voices of the people seated around him.

"Wolfram, you're awake!"

"Lord Bielefeld!"

"You shouldn't move so soon, your Excellency! Please stay still!"

"Hush…" He slurred as against the protests, he gradually sat himself up on the cot.

"Wolfram, please take it easy!" He heard Conrad say and the sound of a chair scratching against the floor as the elder brother got up to be at his side.

Wolfram said nothing, but ran his hands through his matted hair, distractedly working out the knots and tangles as his mind tried to orient itself among the unfamiliar sounds, smells and faces before settling on a single thought.

"Greta?" Wolfram whispered.

"She is safe and sleeping in the cot next to you," Conrad pointed to where Greta lay sleeping, clutching her stuffed bearbee like a lifeline.

"Where is Yuuri?" Wolfram grunted, biting back a mild wave of nausea from his head wound.

"He is….alive..." Conrad said, trying to calm his younger brother. "But you won't be able to see him if you don't rest."

"What happened?" Wolfram demanded when it became clear he was too weak to stand.

"We think that Yuuri was able to reclaim his body and defeat Elberich. Hopefully, Elberich's soul has been sent to the afterlife," Murata explained calmly.

"He's gone for good then? Elberich is gone?" Wolfram asked, still mentally piecing together the events of the last few hours.

"Yes," Conrad said gently. "He is gone for eternity. We will never have to face him again."

"And what of Yuuri?" Wolfram wouldn't find rest until he knew his fiancé was safe.

"Marko is tending to him," Conrad said. "He was injured when Gwendal tried to attack him, but they were able to stop the bleeding and fi he survives the night, he will be alright."

For the first time, Wolfram visibly relaxed. "Good. Thank the gods…What do we do now?"

"We wait," Gilbert said as he leaned back in his chair. "And try to pick up the pieces and restore the kingdom to its rightful glory."

The others said nothing. Wolfram bit his lip, wanting to say something but finding no words as he could only fight the urge to get up from his cot and go see his Yuuri. He wouldn't find rest until he could see and touch the king and make sure he was alive and with them once again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * *

Two weeks later and they were just starting to make sense of the rubble that had been Blood Pledge Castle.

Gwendal watched the laborers sort through the rubble and clean up the impossible mess that Elberich's reign of terror had left behind. Windows, vases, statues, artwork and tapestries lay about in shambles. At least half the windows in the east wing would need to be replaced, priceless artwork and antiques were gone for good, drapes would need to be thrown out and replaced, and the gardens were a lost cause. His mother's prized flowers were ripped from their beds and drowned in the torrential rain that poured ceaselessly – a phenomenon that Gilbert told them was influenced by Yuuri's power over water and consequentially, the weather.

The cost of the damage was mind-blowing and that was just the palace. The reports of the damage done to the villages, farms, and other territories were just starting to trickle in now that a scant few of the roads were safe to travel, most had been buried by mudslides and floods. Gwendal could just see the angry and desperate Aristocrats banging at the palace doors, demanding answers.

One of them was already at it.

As soon as the chaos had died down, Waltorana had gone about demanding answers that none of them had. Waltorana could be heard mumbling and sometimes outright saying that King Yuuri had failed as a monarch and that there needed to be a meeting called for all the aristocratic families to make Yuuri account for his sins.

Gwendal knew they would have to face the Aristocrats sooner or later, but right now the more important thing was trying to pick up the pieces of their broken kingdom and recover what they could before their enemies got an opportunistic idea. Gwendal was well aware that a major continental power such as Shin Makoku crippled such as it was, would be a fine opportunity for Dai Cimarron and its allies to make a move against them.

Reports of Shin Makoku's allies were a bit more optimistic. Most of the smaller countries had sustained significant damage, but nothing to the degree of what Shin Makoku had suffered. He had already received carrier pigeons bearing letters from Franschire and Caloria generously offering what little aid they could spare to help the aggrieved citizens of Shin Makoku get back on their feet.

It was too much and a testament to the deep friendships Yuuri had cultivated during his early years as king. It would always surprise Gwendal how a such a young man – a child really – with the power of his innocence and purity of heart, could forge alliances stronger than any political marriage or treaty. By only his character, Yuuri had managed to unite demon and human countries without a single bribe, arranged marriage or military threat. It was amazing and it had never been more welcome than now.

They had all quickly recovered from their injuries. Gwendal was thankful that none of them has sustained any severe injuries save for Wolfram, who still had a pale purple ring of bruises around his throat. Gilbert and Marko traded places at the king's side, overseeing his physical and spiritual health as they both monitored the changing aura inside the king's sleeping body as his body repaired itself from its time as Elberich's prisoner. Yuuri hadn't moved once from where they set him down on the huge royal bed, only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that their monarch still lived.

As soon as he got the clear from the healers, Wolfram immediately took vigil at his fiancé's side, patting a cool wet cloth to his forehead, changing bandages, and fluffing pillows because he didn't trust the maids and healers to know what they were doing. When not fussing over the king, Wolfram would sit in silence, gently stroking Yuuri's hair and whispering tender words until he fell asleep, slumped over Yuuri's chest until Gwendal or Conrad would wake him and force him to get some proper sleep.

Gwendal wondered if Yuuri would ever truly understand or appreciate the unconditional love his baby brother felt for him. For maybe the millionth time since he realized how hard his brother had fallen for the young king, Gwendal wondered what exactly Yuuri had done to warrant such a change in Wolfram. Gwendal almost wanted to pull Yuuri aside and outright ask the man what he had done to make his little brother go from spoiled angry brat to noble, responsible young prince when they had all failed. They all but given up on Wolfram ever being anything more than a pretty face and a marriage prospect until Yuuri fell into their lives and changed Wolfram into something they could all be proud of.

Gwendal hoped that Yuuri would reciprocate Wolfram's feelings.

"Lord Voltaire!"

Gwendal turned to the page that appeared behind him. "Yes?"

The page gave a short bow before he continued. "Lord Cocteau has requested that you and the other generals report to the king's bedchambers."

This was different. Something must have been a change in the king's condition. "I'll be right there."

When Gwendal arrived to the royal bedchambers. Conrad, Alphonse, Murata, Marko, and Gunter were gathered outside the door. Even Wolfram had been pulled away from Yuuri's side to stand and wait while Gilbert finished with his examination inside.

"Has there been any change?" Gwendal asked when he reached the group.

Gunter shook his head sadly. "Not that we know of. Gilbert has been inside with the king for the past hour. He ordered everyone out so he could work undisturbed."

"Much to my displeasure," Wolfram mumbled irritably.

They fell silent when the door creaked open and Gilbert walked out into he hall with a grim look on his face.

"What is going on with Yuuri?" Wolfram was the first to break the silence in his eagerness to get back to Yuuri's side.

Gilbert was quiet for a bit and then finally gave his report. "King Yuuri is stable….his body has completed the change."

Everyone just stared at him, unable to decide if this was good news or not.

"His body has sustained terrible damage," Gilbert continued. "And the damage done to his mind remains to be seen, but it is safe to say that it too has been….hurt, very badly."

"Do you have any idea of when he will awake?" Conrad asked.

Gilbert shook his head no. "I can't say. It is in King Yuuri's hands now. His body is alive, but his soul is disconnected. I couldn't sense it when I tried to reach him through the spirit world, which tells me that his soul is in transition and has not chosen its final home."

"So you're saying that after all this, Yuuri could still die?" Wolfram glared at the soothsayer.

"I wish I could say otherwise, your Excellency," Gilbert said and he truly looked as if he wished to say something more uplifting. "But I don't believe in false hope. There is still a chance, but right now there is no more that we can do. The king has to make that final choice to remain here."

"He'd better…" Wolfram grumbled under his breath.

Gilbert smiled. "Should his Majesty awaken, he will need all of you to help him. It goes without saying that he will not be in a state fit to rule the kingdom for a time. He needs ample time to recover and also learn to control his new powers. In order to do that, he will need to concentrate entirely on honing his skills and he won't be able to do that and run a kingdom. He needs all of you now more than ever."

"And we will be there to help him at every step," Wolfram stated confidently and everyone around him nodded their agreement. "He is worth it."

Gilbert nodded. "Then when he awakes, his recovery will be all the more good. Now all we can do is wait and see what choice the king makes."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yuuri wandered in darkness for what felt like an eternity. He had no memory of where he came from or where he was going. Time was non-existent and he simply walked in a straight line further into the abyss waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, so quickly he gave a startled yelp, the invisible ground gave beneath him and he was falling down towards something. Despite wind not existing in this world, Yuuri still felt the _swoosh_ of air as he tumbled down into the unknown and towards a bed.

Closing his eyes, Yuuri braced for impact, but felt a softness on his back when he thought he had been falling face first. He sunk – upwards? – into the mattress and felt the weight of blankets on his chest as the space in which he floated slowly rotated until his back was down and his face was up – as far as he could tell.

Though it was still black, he heard sounds. The sound of his own breathing. He heard and felt the shift of blankets as his chest rose and dropped with each breath, he felt his own heartbeat against his ribcage. He felt his arms, torso, legs and feet. It came to him that he hadn't felt his body in a very long time, though he couldn't immediately understand why.

Yuuri paused when he heard another set of lungs breathing gently to his right. Turning his head, he tried to identify the presence next to him, but in the darkness he couldn't figure out who it was. All he could understand was that he felt safe and cared for with the presence.

Something warm slid around his limp hand and squeezed it gently. Yuuri automatically squeezed it back, liking the warm feeling he got when it grasped his fingers tightly. The thing around his hand froze and the breathing hitched. Yuuri frowned and squeezed a little tighter. This time, the presence gasped and Yuuri heard movement and another object – a hand gently traced his forehead.

"Yuuri?"

He knew that voice. Yuuri gave out a soft moan and tried to turn his head in the direction of the voice.

"Yuuri?" This time the voice sounded startled – and hopeful.

Yuuri groaned again, trying to figure out why everything was dark.

"Yuuri….are you awake?"

'I don't know,' Yuuri thought growing a little frustrated that he couldn't see anything.

"Yuuri…" This time he heard the voice choke up, like it was trying not to cry.

"Please…open your eyes. I can't take it anymore!"

'Oh…'

In what took more effort than he thought, Yuuri cracked open his eyes and just like that the darkness dissipated, revealing a large bedroom and the owner of the voice seated next to the bed where he lay.

For a moment, Yuuri's mind went blank, overwhelmed by the new information his eyes were communicating to his brain. An eternity lost in the abyss had left his sense numb thus making it hard for him to recognize his own bedroom, his own things and his tired looking fiancé.

"Wolfram?..." Yuuri whispered. His voice sounded so foreign, and ugly. It sounded like he had gone days without water after eating a bucket of sand.

"Yuuri!" The bright smile absolutely lit up Wolfram's pale face. Yuuri couldn't recall a time when he had seen the prince smile so widely.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri had no control over his voice as it cracked from lack of use and the growing lump in his throat that usually preceded tears. "Where am I?"

"You're back, Yuuri!" Wolfram also didn't seem to have control over his voice either as it cracked and choked as big tears made his green eyes shimmer. "You're alive!"

"I…am?" Yuuri choked. The sight of Wolfram succumbing to his own emotions pushed Yuuri over the edge and big hot childish tears rolled down his cheeks as he realized that they had survived something terrible and yet, they were alright.

Yuuri was knocked back into the pillows as Wolfram tackled him into a crushing hug. Yuuri didn't mind at all. He returned Wolfram's hug with as much strength as his weak arms could muster.

"I missed you so much!" Wolfram sobbed into Yuuri's chest. The sight of tough Wolfram von Bielefeld was too much and Yuuri added his own sobs to the mix and clutched the demon harder and swore to never let him go.

"I missed you too!" Yuuri said and it was the truth. He had no idea how long he had been gone, a prisoner inside his own mind while that evil entity tried to take away everything that meant something to him.

"I thought I had lost you!" Wolfram cried, lifting his head up from Yuuri's chest.

"You didn't" Yuuri smiled lovingly. "I made it back."

Smiling through the tears, Wolfram nodded. "You did. And I'm so happy. You have no idea how happy I am."

"I'm happy too, Wolf," Yuuri whispered.

They both stayed like that for some time, just holding each other for as long as time would allow. It had been so long since either had felt a loving touch, particularly each other's touch that they basked in it and prayed the moment would never end. Yuuri was so grateful to have his anchor back and Wolfram was so elated that his one true love was returned to him. The issues of their relationship were forgotten and insignificant now that they truly knew what it was to need and want each other so completely that any problems on the horizon could wait.

But their private moment didn't last as they were joined by Conrad, who had come to check on them, and Yuuri found himself in a much stronger embrace and was shocked at the sight of an also emotional Conrad who openly shed tears, though silently, at seeing his godson alive and well once again. They were joined by Gwendal, Gunter, Greta and everyone else as word of the king's awakening had spread and they all had to see for themselves that Yuuri was truly home again.

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Chapter 22!

I know I said this would be the last chapter but as I started writing and tying up loose ends, I saw that one chapter just wouldn't cover everything so I had to break it in half. The next – and for realz final – chapter will be up as soon as possible. In the meantime. I thought I would give you all this one as you have been so patient with my slow updates.

I will leave you with this question and you can answer it in your reviews. If I write a sequel, what do you think it should be about? I have this idea floating around in my head, but I'd love to hear your thought on this as you all played such an important role in helping me grow into a better writer and complete this story.

Please review! I can't wait to hear what you think of this new chapter. I always appreciate and look forward to your input!

Happy early 4th of July! (to my US readers) and Happy Monday to my other readers. XD

Love, EB.


	23. Chapter 23 The Final Day

The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 23

Hello, I had to break the final chapter in two because there were so many story points to tie up that it just went far too long and I didn't want your brains to explode from the text overload. So here is the real final chapter of THYS with a bonus epilogue scene at the end. Thank you for all your reviews and encouragement and support as I finish out this wonderful story that has been such a grand experience from beginning to end! I couldn't have done it without you!

Note: I counted this chapter at 15,307 words total….so I suggest you grab a snack, take a potty break and set aside enough time to enjoy this last installment.

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The Haunting of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 23 – Let Me Help You

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"Yuuri, open wide!"

"Wolf, I can feed myself!" Yuuri protested half-heartedly as Wolfram shoved a spoon full of porridge in his face.

"You need to build your strength so you can get better!" Wolfram retorted, shoving the spoon in Yuuri's mouth when the bedridden king tried to reply.

Three weeks after Yuuri had returned to them, life was assuming some kind of normalcy. The repairs to the castle were progressing rapidly, or so Yuuri was told as the king had been ordered to stay in bed and to not leave his bedroom until Gilbert and Marko both deemed him strong enough to venture out into his own palace.

For the first week, Yuuri had spent most of his time in a dreamless sleep waking only to be fed some bland cream of wheat or porridge by his attentive fiancé. By the second week, he was strong enough to sit up in his own with the aid of a few fat pillows and read to past the time.

But now, Yuuri was bordering on restlessness. He wanted to get up and see for himself the physical state of his palace and his kingdom. Conrad and Wolfram, the only two that Yuuri had seen or spoken to since his return, were vague about the details, they only said that the castle and the capital had sustained severe damage because of the storm and that Gwendal and Gunter were overseeing the ins and outs of running the kingdom.

His memories were sparse and vague. The last clear memory he could recall was the night of the ball when he announced his upcoming wedding to Wolfram, after that everything was a mixture of images, negative emotions, and crippling fear that Yuuri couldn't really place except for when he was told the name and history of the one who tried to destroy everything he loved.

Now at the third week, Yuuri's mind was slowly beginning to fill in the blanks. Bits and pieces would come to him at odd times, usually when he was sleeping or just staring blankly into the distance during the rare times he was alone. Images of faces and strange voices punctuated his confusing memories, but over time they began to arrange themselves in the proper order with the help of his friends' testimonies.

Yuuri was broken out of his thoughts by Wolfram impatiently pressing the edge of the spoon to his lips. He grudgingly opened his mouth to swallow the hot porridge. He had to hand it to Wolfram, he made sure the cook put all of Yuuri's favorite fixings to flavor the bland soupy concoction – berries, sugar, and the like.

The blonde demon had rarely left Yuuri's side since he had awakened. Wolfram had become Yuuri's personal attendant, seeing to his every need with his usual overbearing nature. Be it helping him eat, dress or bathe, or even bringing him books to read to stave off boredom, Wolfram was always there to help Yuuri. At first, it was overwhelming to Yuuri, but now he had grown accustomed to the attention, as he was too weak to really care for himself.

The young king was grateful but also felt guilty as Wolfram would see to his needs above his own and it showed. Wolfram always looked wan and tired. Yuuri wondered if the other man ever really rested.

"Wolf, you really don't have to do all this," Yuuri said gently, trying not to seem ungrateful. "I can feed myself at the very least. I hate to have you fuss over me."

"Hush," Wolfram said, though it was void of any harshness. "I'm happy to do this for you, Yuuri. I'm supposed to. I'm your fiancé."

Yuuri could remember a time when he would cringe whenever Wolfram referred to himself as his fiancé. For a while, Yuuri had just learned to tune it out or brush it off whenever talk of their accidental engagement started. Now, it brought an odd feeling of comfort, because it asserted Wolfram's dedication and loyalty, two things that Yuuri vowed to appreciate more in his closest friend.

"I came so close to losing you….I don't want it to happen again,"

It was so quiet that Yuuri almost missed it. The sad, quiet whisper in an unusual moment of vulnerability. The normally stern and uptight Wolfram went quiet, looking at Yuuri with a scared and worried expression jolted Yuuri into action and he instinctively reached out to touch Wolfram's arm affectionately.

"You didn't," Yuuri said with an assuring smile. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere…I'm never leaving you."

"I know…" Wolfram sighed, setting aside the half-empty bowl to collect himself. "It still seems like a distant nightmare…..My mind isn't even sure it happened and yet I know it did and that makes it all the more…."

"…overwhelming?" Yuuri supplied.

"And surreal," Wolfram completed.

Yuuri could relate. He was still having difficulty finding the right words to describe their ordeal. Frightening, horrific, overwhelming, dangerous, deadly, confusing, hopeless, and yes, surreal.

"But I'm glad you're back," Wolfram said after a brief silence. "I'm glad you're alive,"

"Me too, Wolf," Yuuri said, bridging the gap and placing his clammy hands over Wolfram's warm ones.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Though his messy bangs hid his eyes, Yuuri could hear the tears in Wolfram's voice as the demon recalled the helplessness he had felt.

"Hey, it's alright…" Yuuri said quickly. He didn't like seeing Wolfram get emotional, it was so out of character for the demon that Yuuri immediately wanted to rectify it. Without hesitating, Yuuri beckoned Wolfram into his arms and the demon quickly leaned into the impromptu embrace.

"I'm sorry…" Wolfram muttered into Yuuri's shoulder, sniffling back his tears. "I hate being so sensitive! I'm just….I just….I just thought that everything was lost and….Yuuri, you don't know how convinced I was that Elberich had won!...a-and…"

"Shh…..I know, Wolfram," Yuuri said gently, hugging the blonde even tighter. "I don't know all the details yet, but I know I put you guys through a lot and I can't imagine what it was like for you."

"You had it the worst though," Wolfram said, lifting his head up to face Yuuri. "We had no idea what was wrong and we made it worse for you. We almost helped Elberich destroy the kingdom. And destroy you. I feel awful that we caused you so much pain because of our own ignorance."

"Hey, it's not anyone's fault," Yuuri assured him. And he truly believed that. The pain he had suffered for months culminating into a fight for their lives against an ancient evil was something that not a single one of them saw coming. It was over with and done, and now they could just go back to normal.

Wolfram pulled away from Yuuri, though reluctantly, when a sharp knock at the door interrupted them.

"Who is it?" Wolfram called out, irritably.

"Gilbert Cocteau," came the deep, quiet voice of the soothsayer. "I would like to have a word with his Majesty, if he is able."

Before Wolfram could answer, Yuuri called out. "Come in!"

The door creaked open and Gilbert smoothly stepped into the room and took one of the available seats left behind from when Yuri entertained multiple visitors.

Yuuri didn't know much about the strange man from the Christ territory. Wolfram had informed him that Gilbert was the one who had stopped them from exacerbating Yuuri's illness and correctly diagnosed the problem and then led the exorcism that helped save him. To Yuuri, he looked like one of the gypsy fortunetellers on TV, though his hair was platinum blonde and his eyes were an icy greyish blue that made Yuuri think of a cold winter morning.

"How are you feeling today, your Majesty?" Gilbert asked with a small smile.

"I'm feeling much better," Yuuri smiled back. "The herbal tea you gave me has been doing wonders. I haven't slept this well in ages."

"Wonderful, I will make more of that particular blend for you later today" Gilbert said happily, but then he became serious. "There's something I need to speak with you about, your Majesty."

"What is that?" Yuuri asked, becoming worried at the change in tone.

Gilbert seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, unsure of how to breach the subject with the king.

"I'm…unsure of how to approach this…so I guess I will ask you; what do you remember of your possession?"

It was the first time someone had referred to Yuuri's illness as a "possession." Disease, madness, sickness – but never "possession." In a world where dragons were a protected species and the temple maidens regularly communicated with the spirit of a dead king, the idea of possession seemed unheard of or made of fairy tales. Yuuri's retainers were loath to refer to the spiritual hijacking of Yuuri's mind and his power, perhaps they didn't want Yuuri to shoulder any of the blame, but they didn't give their king enough credit – he knew his magic had been used for evil.

"I don't remember much…" Yuuri started slowly. He could feel Wolfram's gaze drill into him. "I….remember the night of the ball...when I collapsed. The rest is just random images. I remember being told that my pain was due to some sort of transformation that would make me a full demon…"

"Not a full demon…" Gilbert amended. "Something else entirely – a verschmelzung, a being that occupies two planes of existence. You were possessed by an evil and powerful spirit out for revenge against Shinou. For a time, your soul had been cast out of your body and sent to another dimension. Through sheer force of will, you were able to reclaim your body and save us all."

"Elberich…" the name came suddenly to Yuuri from some hidden part of his memory. A rush of feelings came to him along with images of a man that was his near clone, only older and angrier. A powerful double-black inexplicably bound to Yuuri in ways that the young king didn't really understand.

Gilbert nodded. "Yes…the first verschmelzung and the most powerful. But you, your Majesty, are a powerful fused being in your own right."

"How so?" Yuuri asked, though something in him dreaded the answer.

Gilbert paused for a while, he stared down at the floor before coming up with a way to explain Yuuri's new existence to him.

"Marko was wrong when he said that there were only five cases of verschmelzungs known," Gilbert began. "There are several more of us. We are in hiding for different reasons. Some are hidden because they don't wish to be a danger to those around them, and others hide because they don't want to be exploited for their powers."

Yuuri did remember the conversation he had with Marko weeks ago about the existence of other fused beings. He felt a sense of relief as well as shock that he wasn't the only one who had gone through this terrible ordeal.

"Due to the nature of your possession, your Majesty, I believe that you are a type of verschmelzung called a channeler. All verschmelzungs have the ability to communicate with the dead because we occupy the space between worlds. Each verschmelzung's spiritual ability is different. Mine is the ability to communicate with the spirit world through divination and exorcism."

"What does a channeler do?" Yuuri turned to Wolfram, who posted the question that had been hanging at the edge of Yuuri's mind.

Gilbert answered the question, but kept his gaze fixed on Yuuri. "A channeler communicates with the dead by allowing the spirit to possess him, though the channeler still has control. It requires an iron will to ensure that the spirit does not overpower the channeler….that is what happened to you, your Majesty."

"To me?" Yuuri whispered, unable to really believe what he was being told. The read building inside him continued to grow as his mind reconciled the implication of Gilbert's explanation.

He didn't have to contemplate for long because Gilbert confirmed his fears.

"This could happen again…."

"No…." Wolfram rasped in disbelief before Yuuri could even respond. Though he would have had the same sentiment as his fiancé. "Elberich is gone. You just said so!"

Gilbert shook his head. "You can't destroy a spirit. You can only send it somewhere else and hope that the twin death gods bestow a harsh judgment upon it. Elberich's spirit was only sent to Purgatory where it will receive its divine punishment from the death gods."

"What does that mean for me?" Yuuri asked, voice trembling with fear.

"When you were going through the transformation, your new powers were flowering. In your weakness, the vengeful spirit of Elberich sensed your channeling powers and took over your body and thus was able to take over your magic to wreak his vengeance. Without proper training and meditation, you could become possessed again and lose yourself."

That was the last thing Yuuri needed to hear. He was sure that this was the last time he would have to endure the torment of an evil entity and he could focus on recovering and helping his kingdom. He slowly shook his head in disbelief as Gilbert continued.

"I know this is difficult," Gilbert said sympathetically. "When I went through the change, it was as if my hold on reality was broken. I honestly thought I was insane. It took me years before I was able to control my powers enough that I could function as a normal adult."

"As a normal adult?" Yuuri echoed. The more Gilbert spoke the worse Yuuri felt.

"My goal is to not frighten you, but tell you the truth so that you may know how to cope," Gilbert said. "Because of your already strong magical abilities, your channeling is even more sensitive. And the more sensitive you are as a psychic, the more drawn the spirits will be to you. That's why you have not been allowed to leave this room."

Gilbert gestured towards the space beyond Yuuri's bed. When he had awoken, Yuuri had noticed several red rectangular pieces of paper pinned up around the windows, door, and around his bed, along with strategically placed red candles on the tables.

"These talismans block spirits from entering certain spaces- like a bedroom," Gilbert explained. "If you were to leave this space as you are now – with now preparation or training in the spiritual arts – you will be overwhelmed by the multitudes of geists vying for your attention. They are drawn to our ilk like moths to a flame. We are their one connection to the living world and they will consume you, if you don't know how to protect yourself."

"So...I can never leave my own bedroom?" Yuuri swallowed the sore lump in his throat that had built the more Gilbert spoke. Things were beginning to look dire to Yuuri and the small bit of optimism he had left was quickly dissipating.

"For the time being," Gilbert said. "I don't want you to feel disheartened, your Majesty. I just want you to know what lies ahead for you now that you have completed the transformation."

"There's no way to make it stop?" Yuuri had to ask.

Gilbert shook his head sadly. " I am sorry, your Majesty. But this power will stay with you for the rest of your life. You can never not see or hear the dead. They will follow you wherever you go. The only thing you can do is learn how to control your powers and protect your own soul from corruption."

Yuuri collapsed back into the pile of pillows in shock and dismay. Every word that came from Gilbert cut into his psyche and destroyed his resolve. Him, a channeler – and arguably one so powerful that it made him a walking target for evil spirits bent on destruction – he never felt so vulnerable and so trapped in the bedroom. He imagined stepping outside his bedroom and being assaulted by a horde of angry ghosts. What would _that_ look like to a normal person? He would be seen as a lunatic….and unfit to be king. It was too much.

Wolfram must have seen the distressed look on Yuuri's face as he ran his fingers gently through the king's messy dark hair and turned to the soothsayer.

"This is too much for him right now," Wolfram said curtly. "He needs to rest and not be worried by such revelations. If he really is some sort of extrasensory being then he will learn to control it like his water magic…"

"No…I won't…"

Wolfram and Gilbert stared at Yuuri.

"I never had control over my magic, Wolf….it was always the Maou…" Yuuri whispered brokenly as a grave realization came to him. "Don't you remember, Wolf? I can never recall anything after I use my water magic because I change into the Maou."

Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise. The true nature of Yuuri's magic was a well kept secret by his retainers and the aristocracy. No one knew exactly what kind of magic had been bestowed upon the king, all they knew was that it was beyond their understanding and their place to question the nature of Yuuri's divinely given magic.

"If that is so, then you have been using your channeling for a while now," Gilbert reckoned. "Something must have made you lose control or become weak in order for Elberich to possess you and even take control of you water magic."

Yuuri cringed inwardly. He didn't want to reveal the years of resentment and bitterness that had been growing inside him as the years rolled by. The stress and reality of ruling a kingdom had worn through Yuuri's cheerful resolve and left him a shell of what he once was. But he had always been careful to never reveal those feelings to his friends…he didn't think they would understand.

"This is too much…" Yuuri breathed, sinking further into the pillows, willing them to swallow him whole and take him anywhere else that wasn't here.

Wolfram picked up immediately on Yuuri's distress. "Maybe we should discuss this at a later time. His Majesty is still recovering and in need of rest."

Gilbert moved as if to speak again, but a stern stare from the king's protective fiancé silenced him. He stood and gave a curt bow.

"I didn't mean to cause you distress, your Majesty," Gilbert said evenly. "We will discuss this at a later time…when you are feeling better."

"Thank you," Yuuri whispered, just barely audible, his mind was a thousand miles away.

Without another word, Gilbert gave another short bow and showed himself out of the bedroom. The door closed with a strong thud, leaving the two men alone once again in the sanctuary of Yuuri's bedroom.

They both watched the shut door for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts before Wolfram chose to end the uncomfortable silence.

"What are you thinking?" Wolfram said, turning to his fiancé.

'That I'm still trapped in a nightmare…' Yuuri thought.

"I don't know, Wolfram. I really don't."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

A week later and Gwendal, Gunter, Conrad, Murata, Marko, and Gilbert were all gathered around the dining table.

Conrad shifted uncomfortably in his seat and for the twelfth time, found himself stewing over the fate of his godson.

Conrad hadn't seen much of Yuuri since he had awoken from Elberich's spell. After a brief and joyous reunion, Conrad, Gwendal and Gunter were immediately thrown into the recovery. Now there were large, neat piles of debris lying about the castle grounds waiting to be broken down into smaller piles and either recycled into fuel or building materials or thrown away. The castle was beginning to look somewhat like its old self and the damage wasn't as bad as they thought it would be. There were still refugees to care for and many assessments to review, but they were on the right track to recovery.

That left the issue of their king's health and his new "existence" as Gilbert kept calling it.

Conrad had visited Yuuri everyday to see to his health. Wolfram was always by the king's side and Conrad couldn't help but smile at his younger brother's devotion and the fact that Yuuri was embracing Wolframs affection, rather than ignoring or discouraging it. As a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite as Yuuri would subconsciously lean into every touch or caress the blond demon gave him, willingly, though putting up his same half-hearted protests. It was all for show and Conrad could see the relationship between his brother and godson deepening after surviving such a crisis.

Though weak and still his usual normal cheery self, Conrad – and the rest of them – could sense the subtle change in their king. He wondered if it had anything to do with Yuuri's transformation. Yuuri looked exactly as he had before, but there was something different about him. An odd awareness of something beyond the material realm in which they occupied that only Yuuri could see. It was the same awareness that hung around gilbert whenever he spoke of the spirit world.

After the customary formalities, Gilbert cleared his throat and began.

"With your Excellences'' permission, I would like to discuss the nature of the king's transformation and propose a course of action," Gilbert paused for Gwendal to give him a cursory nod and he continued.

"As you all know, his Majesty has gone through the transformation from a half-breed to a Verschmelzung," Gilbert began. "Because of his already powerful magic, the transformation manifested itself much more severely than in previous known cases. Because of this, Yuuri's soul was left vulnerable to malevolent spirits. Also, because of the nature of Yuuri's existence, his contract with the element of water inadvertently created an avenue for the spirit of Elberich to possess him."

Everyone visibly tensed at the mention of Elberich. Though the spirit of Shinou's forgotten brother had been banished to the afterlife, the fear of the spectre's power was still fresh on their minds.

"I have already explained to his majesty what he has now become," Gilbert continued. "It goes without saying that King Yuuri is….a very unique individual."

Gilbert leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in contemplation. "I have thought of this for a while now and just be blunt. There is a possibility that this could happen again…"

Everyone's faces simultaneously went pale. Gunter protested loudly. Gwendal's frown deepened. Conrad felt the color drain from his face. Murata remained silent and blank.

"We can't go through this again!" Conrad heard Gunter protest.

Gilbert patted the air with both hands to calm them. "With proper training – and support from you, Yuuri will be able to protect himself against another possession. Also, I doubt that there are any spirits that have the power and self-awareness of Elberich."

"What needs to be done to prevent this from happening again?" Gwendal said, getting straight to the point.

Gilbert thought for a moment. "If….I can be Yuuri's teacher, I can train him in the art of spirituality. However, due to the nature of his powers, it would be safer for him and everyone if he and I go into the wilderness where he can learn to control his new powers without the risk of causing harm."

"That cannot be done," Gwendal stated. "We are already in a precarious position with the kingdom in this current state. If King Yuuri were to disappear it would ruin the morale of our people and encourage resentment among the aristocracy."

"The Aristocrats will want answers from us…" Gunter added. "We've kept this secret –though poorly – to prevent the nobility from questioning his right to the throne. They already distrust him because of him being a half-breed."

"I'm sorry….my lords," Gilbert said empathetically. "But with his Majesty's powers being what they are. It is too dangerous for him to be around so many people while his grasp on his new abilities is so volatile. The power to bridge the gap between the living and the dead is a dangerous and unpredictable power. There is a reason that the king has not been allowed to leave his bedroom. King Yuuri is a magnet for spirits and being a channeler, he is particularly vulnerable."

Conrad remembered Gilbert explaining to them what a channeler was. To Conrad, they sounded like witches that invited spirits to possess them and thus take on the spirit's knowledge and in some cases, their magic. An untrained channeler ran the risk of doing the exact opposite and being taken over any a spirit that would take their powers and knowledge – a very dangerous situation especially for someone gifted with the god-like powers of the demon king.

"What say you to this, your Eminence?"

All heads turned to the silent Great Sage. Murata continued to stare at the table before him, fingers woven together on the polished wood. The Great Sage had been diminished in their eyes, he was no longer the omnipotent and wise being they remembered. He was now just a man with remarkable spiritual powers but with all the vices and faults of any other person. Murata alone knew the potential for destruction someone like Yuuri could inflict if the necessary precautions weren't taken. Only he could tell them how to protect their kingdom from its monarch.

"When Elberich became a verschmelzung," Murata began, staring at the table and into the past. "He had no one. We had soothsayers and fortunetellers, but they were parlor tricksters. The witches couldn't communicate with the dead, only invoke their power to a certain degree. But, Elberich…" Murata shook his head. "Elberich could actually talk with them, see them and sometimes even touch them. His interactions with them became so frequent that he lost touch. He stopped distinguishing between the living and the dead."

Murata looked up from the table and gave a bitter scoff. "It's like reliving the past. I remember Elberich confined to his bed, I remember the scratches, the nightmares and the convulsions as he fought every single day for control of his mind and body. What happened to him, can and will happen to Yuuri, if he isn't taught how to manage his powers."

"But Elberich was alone! And those around him forced him to use his powers for their own gain and eventually betrayed him!" Gunter stated and if he was looking for a reaction from Murata, he didn't get one. The sage simply kept that blank mask. "We would never do that to King Yuuri. We will help him!"

"The road to recovery will be a difficult one," Gilbert said, appearing unmoved by Gunter's proclamation. "Marko didn't lie when he said that many families of verschmelzungs terminated the change or abandoned their loved one when it became too much…It's a common occurrence."

For the first time, Marko spoke up. "As the king's immediate family, you have to look forward to suicidal thoughts, unpredictable mood swings, violent outbursts, disconnection with reality, - and that's just the start."

"That doesn't change anything!" Gunter argued. "He's still our king!"

Murata looked sadly upon the determined faces of Yuuri's retainers. "The Yuuri that became king of Shin Makoku three years ago is no more. What we have is a new king, who will retain some of his previous traits, but in reality, might as well be a different person."

"Whatever he may be, he will always be our King Yuuri."

Everyone turned to the previously silent Gwendal, who had opted to listen to the exchange with his mouth pressed against his folded hands, propped on his elbows. He fixed Marko, Gilbert and Murata with a piercing grey stare.

"What you are telling us about the king, though grave, is irrelevant. Shinou chose Yuuri Shibuya to be our king and sovereign, nothing will change that. If Yuuri has to go through these changes and learn to control these new powers, then that is what he will do for the sake of the country. And as members of his cabinet, we are bound to serve him by helping him through these challenges because insane or not, he is and always will be our king."

Gwendal lowered his hands from his face to set them upon the table as he leaned forward staring at the three naysayers intensely.

"Instead of telling us what a horrid state King Yuuri will be in, tell us what must be done to ensure his recovery, protect our kingdom and, most importantly, protect his right to the throne."

Conrad nodded. "Whatever the case may be, we will always remain loyal to Yuuri. Do not lump us in with those from the past. You don't understand what King Yuuri means to us."

Marko still looked skeptical, But Gilbert simply nodded his assent. "Very well. The best advice I can give you is to simply be there for him. The king will need anchors to keep him bond to this ream and strengthen his hold on reality. You have to remain constant because nothing else in his life for the next couple of years will be consistent. Routine is key, repetition is key, and normalcy is key. You have to remember that because he won't always be able to."

"Anything else?" Gwendal asked.

"Yes," Gilbert added. "I pray you reconsider letting me take him into the wilderness to train him. I assure you it is the best course of action."

"We can't have you whisking the king away for an indefinite period of time," Gwendal replied. "The country is in a state of instability. He needs to be a presence for the people and the nobility."

"Perhaps, we can find a compromise then?" Gilbert insisted. "Mayhap a few days out of the month I can take him to train and bring him back with instructions on how to navigate his daily activities?"

"That is more doable," Gwendal agreed. "But for now, King Yuuri must remain here in Blood Pledge."

Gilbert nodded solemnly. "Very well. He is not strong enough to travel anyways. For the next few weeks, I recommend bed rest and no strenuous activity and then, we will move on to his rehabilitation."

"That will do," Gwendal stated. "Now if there is nothing more to discuss, we must see to stabilizing the kingdom and examining our losses if we are to restore normality to the kingdom."

Seeing his exit, Gilbert gave a short bow. "Thank you for your time."

Gwendal gave a short nod. "You are excused."

The group began to dissipate. Murata, Conrad, Gunter, and Gwendal stayed behind to discuss other matters concerning the state of their home.

Before he left them for good, Gilbert turned to say one last thing to the generals.

"My Lords, his Majesty is very fortunate to have you at his side. I don't doubt that he will make a strong recovery as long as you continue to stand by him."

His statement earned small smiles from Conrad and Gunter. Murata and Gwendal looked grateful.

"Thank you," Gwendal whispered.

Gilbert and Marko exited the room in silence and made their way down the empty halls to their respective quarters.

"They are taking this well…"

Gilbert nearly started at the barely audible comment from Dr. Marko. The old man walked in time with the soothsayer, staring blankly ahead as they walked to their rooms.

"You don't give people enough credit," Gilbert replied.

Marko gave a bitter bark of a laugh. "You know very well why that is…and you also know that you are the same."

Gilbert couldn't argue that. He had been ostracized, beaten, hunted, and driven to the farthest reaches of the kingdom because of what he was. It was only after ten years of solitude that he was able to carve out a niche for himself in the underbelly of society and remain hidden for his own safety. The cruelty he had suffered at the hands of the everyday folk had left Gilbert bitter and angry…it wasn't until he met Serge that his view on humanity began to change and he answered the higher calling of using his curse to help others.

Marko for his part, had witnessed what happened when people went mad and their families could no longer handle the burden of caring for them. Be it trauma from battle, torture or demonic possession, families would crumble under the responsibility of dealing with a mentally unhinged relative. The existence of the verschmelzungs coupled with the already existing prejudice of half-breeds made people more likely to terminate or cast out unwanted charges. Marko had grown tired and impatient with the unnecessary histrionics and emotion that came after the bleak diagnosis of mental disease.

Because that's what it was. Mental illness in a person gifted with extraordinary powers. King Yuuri was no different though he was definitely the most dangerous. If the king's retainers did not stand their ground in the face of a mad king, then they would not be able to save the poor young man from his own curse.

"What do you plan to do now, Marko?"

Marko gave Gilbert a sideways glance, but found only genuine curiosity.

"Who knows? They might want me to stick around, but I doubt it. As soon as the king's primary physician returns, they will probably want me gone. They don't really like me very much." Marko shrugged. "No one ever likes me."

"You've been told to improve your social skills," Gilbert pointed out.

"Pff! Like I have that sort of time," Marko scoffed. "I am a doctor and a scientist. I cannot waste precious time catering to people's insecurities when lives are at stake. I became Head of the Shin Makoku Medical Corps for my skills, not my ability to empathize."

Gilbert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was Marko and that was how he would always be. Marko was a brilliant doctor and researcher, but he was a terrible person to get along with and sometimes, Gilbert suspected that the old doctor was proud of that.

They reached the hall where they were both staying. Marko's door came up first and the doctor roughly yanked the aging door open.

"If it means anything to you, I think there is still a need for your expertise now that the king has completed the change. It will be great for your research," Gilbert said.

Dr. Marko sighed. "It definitely would be. But unless the king is particularly merciful, I should start to pack my bags."

Gilbert gave Marko a sympathetic smile and began to head towards his own rooms.

"Gilbert…"

Gilbert turned around at his name being called. Marko regarded him with an odd expression.

"If it means anything to _you_, I do think that King Yuuri has a good chance of getting his life back and that his servants will stand by him…I honestly think that."

Gilbert didn't stop the wide smile stretching across his face. "I think that as well."

Marko looked down. "I can only hope that they prove my pessimism wrong for once." And with that, Marko disappeared inside his room, the old door thudding shut behind him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alphonse had been in hiding for the past three weeks. Well, not really, it was more of him simply staying out of the way as chaos erupted around the return of their king.

Alphonse had watched them carry the unconscious king again and he had staggered to the infirmary behind Lord Weller and Bielefeld and patiently waited his turn to be seen by the overwhelmed healers.

After he had been released from the healers' care, Alphonse took to aimlessly wandering the great halls of the castle, taking in the damage done by Yuuri's chaotic power.

The worst of the damage had been removed. Tarps and sheets covered broken windows and rooms with no doors, all along the passageways piles of wood, glass and stone dotted the corridors. Alphonse carefully sidestepped the piles of garbage and the workers as they tried to clean up the overwhelming mess left behind.

Alphonse wanted to see King Yuuri very badly. He hadn't seen or heard anything of the young monarch since he was whisked away to the royal bedchambers. Alphonse had melted into the background as the retainers and Lord Bielefeld were preoccupied with helping the king and restoring the kingdom.

Alphonse didn't mind being sent to the back burner. His deeds in the exorcism of Elberich were small in the grand scheme of things and his magic had helped defend the others, but he didn't seek recognition or reward – he only wanted to make sure that the king was alive and well.

The few remaining haggard servants scampered bout the palace as Alphonse made his way to the royal wing. He hadn't heard many rumours, which went to show how preoccupied the staff was when they couldn't spare a few second to share a tidbit of juicy gossip between chores. Though, he was sure they would get back to their gossiping ways soon enough, especially after what had transpired.

Alphonse came to the large doors of the royal bedchamber. He was surprised to find no guards stood vigil outside the king's bedroom – which could mean that either Lord Bielefeld or Lord Weller was inside, that was the only time when no guards present wouldn't be a huge issue.

Alphonse suddenly lost his nerve. If the king were with one of his retainers then he probably wasn't taking visitors. The king hadn't left his room since he was carried away from the fight. Only the generals and the Great Sage had been in and out of the room as well as Gilbert and Marko.

Alphonse shook off his nervousness. He wouldn't know unless he tried. Surely, his aid would be noted and they would let him see the king – at the very worst they would tell him to come back when the king was in better health.

The guilt that had been his only companion for ten years bade Alphonse ot knick anyway. Timidly, Alphonse raised his fist and gave a firm knock and waited nervously for an answer.

It almost seemed like forever before a quiet voice from inside finally acknowledged his presence.

"Come in….I think the door is unlocked…"

Alphonse slowly turned the handle and entered the room.

The royal bedroom looked untouched from the chaos. The room smelled of teas and medicinal herbs, the curtains were pulled back to let in the sorely missed sunlight. Various jars and knickknacks littered every available counter space while some random clothes were laid before a dying fire.

Seated on the bed, propped up by a huge pile of pillows was the king, who watched Alphonse with a confused, but amicable expression.

"Hello…..um….were you sent to give me a message?" King Yuuri asked with his usual lightness that the castle had missed terribly.

Alphonse was wordless for a moment. King Yuuri looked so different from what he did only a few days ago. Where he once looked haggard and depressed, the king now looked a little brighter. Though he still looked tired and weak, there was some spark returning to the king's dark gazed the small smile he offered Alphonse was a wonderful improvement from the downtrodden expression that the king had previously worn constantly.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty," Alphonse said with a brief bow. "No, I don't have a message for you….I…have come to see how you were faring."

The king regarded Alphonse curiously, before recognition dawned on him.

"Oh!..." The King breathed, siting up a little straighter and then beckoned Alphonse t come closer. "You're Alphonse! I remember you!"

"You do?" Alphonse asked. The king's mental state was understandably a closely guarded secret, but Alphonse sure the king would remember him.

The king smiled. "Yeah….I mean…my memory is still a little off, but it's been coming back to me these past few days and I remember you….you played the guitar for me, right?"

Alphonse remembered that moment clearly, when he tried music to calm the tormented king when his possession had him in tis grips. That moment seemed so far away now. Alphonse could even recall the song he had played – a pretty sonata that was popular in the Bielefeld territory. He hadn't played that song in years, the last time was just a couple of days before Niklas' death.

Alphonse slowly approached the bed and paused when he noticed the king wasn't alone. Lying beside the king was Lord Bielefeld, passed out cold and cured up at the king's side, dressed in his blue uniform trousers and white undershirt and barefoot.

It was surprising to see his captain in such a state. As long as Alphonse could remember, Lord Bielefeld had always been dressed to the nines and not a single thread out of place. Bielefeld was the iconic image of a well-dressed and pristine young lord, seeing him like this threw Alphonse off a little.

King Yuuri noticed Alphonse's hesitation and followed his gaze to where Bielefeld lay. He looked at the sleeping lord with an affectionate smile and casually tucked a piece of hair behind Bielefeld's ear. It was here that Alphonse also noticed that the king's free hand was intertwined with one of Bielefeld's and it seemed it had been that way for a while.

"He's been constantly fusing over me so much he wore himself out, finally," the king explained. "I kept telling him to slow down and rest but if I so much as make a peep he's all over it."

Alphonse couldn't help but smile at his captain. "He cares very deeply for you."

"I know…" The king said. "Sometimes too much…"

A silence fell upon the two men. Alphonse was unsure of how to proceed with the king. Seeing the king and Lord Bielefeld in such an intimate setting made him feel as if he was intruding on something precious.

"I remember you now…"

Alphonse wasn't sure how to proceed with that statement. "I'm…glad that you do…"

The king nodded. "My memory has been….spotty since I recovered…I recall sounds, colors, images, and feelings, but I don't always know where they come from. However, I've been steadily making sense of it all and I remember you being there."

"Yes, I was present to aid the generals in the…exorcism-"

"No," The king shook his head. "That's not what I remember you from. I remember meeting you in my office, then in the hallway and then, you played the guitar for me when I was sick…"

Alphonse remembered those days very clearly, and found himself glad that the king remembered them as well. Though the situation had been dire and there was much confusion regarding King Yuuri's future, those moments had given Alphonse something he hadn't felt in a long time – purpose.

"Yes, I remember as well," Alphonse couldn't help but smile a little. "I saw your distress and couldn't help but offer you some comfort."

King Yuuri nodded and then smiled widely at Alphonse. "Thank you…for being there. I feel like you were the only one who understood."

"I did my best, your Majesty," Alphonse said quietly.

King Yuuri nodded and then looked down at his lap, deep in thought. Alphonse had understood the king's predicament because he had experienced it himself. King Yuuri had made Alphonse understand, finally, exactly what had happened to Niklas and that had enabled him to try to prevent the generals from making the same mistakes that cost him the love of his life. He would never wish the kind of pain that losing someone so dear could cause on his own enemies. It was a sharp pain that dulled into a constant ache flavored with anger, and self-loathing that had haunted the young lieutenant for years. No, he wouldn't wish that an anyone, and he definitely wouldn't allow for his captain to experience that kind of suffering if he could have helped it.

Alphonse silently watched King Yuuri absently stroke Lord Bielefeld's hair as the captain continued to sleep, totally oblivious to his surroundings. Alphonse couldn't recall a time when he had seen either man outwardly show such affection, especially in front of others. King Yuuri in his early days had started out avoiding the young lord and the two constantly bickered. However, as years went past their initial animosity had turned into a friendship and eventually, a supposedly one-sided romance. Now, Alphonse could see the deep bond the two shared and it would only grow stronger as King Yuuri regained his former strength.

A sudden pang of jealousy reared itself inside the soldier as he looked upon what he used to have and what he could have had if he hadn't been so ignorant.

'I miss you so much, Nikki.'

King Yuuri suddenly paused and looked straight at Alphonse – or really, straight past him into the far corner of the room.

Alphonse followed the king's line of vision, but found the corner to be empty, save for a small table with a vase full of dying flowers on top of it.

Without breaking his stare, King Yuuri began to talk in an airy, hesitant tone.

"Do you….know of someone named Niklas?" Yuuri asked.

Alphonse froze. He had never mentioned his tragic lover to anyone, definitely not the king, by name.

"Niklas was a comrade of mine and Lord Bielefeld's when we are students at the military academy," Alphonse explained hesitantly.

The King gave Alphonse a sharp look. "No…he was more than that to you…"

Yes, he had been. The atmosphere in the room shifted. Alphonse couldn't help but feel the presence of someone else in the room, but he only saw the king and the unconscious Lord Bielefeld. The air became cold and heavy, but it was without the feeling of dread and helplessness. It was….pleasant.

"He was your fiancé,"

Alphonse was shocked. "I…had meant to ask for his hand…but I never got to…"

King Yuuri gave a sad nod, and continued to watch the corner. "He died….he fell…"

Alphonse had to physically shove down the sudden wave of emotions that brought him back to that fateful night so many years ago. The multitude of swimming feelings and memories threatened to overwhelm him and make him break down in front of his monarch. But more than any other emotion, the guilt crushed down on his psyche and made his chest ache unbearably.'

"Yes…" he managed to choke out past the lump in his throat.

"Tell me about him…"

The command was soft and coaxing, but Alphonse couldn't find the right words at first. He didn't know where he could possibly start. The mental strain of the past few days coupled with this bizarre turn made it near impossible for Alphonse to organize his thoughts enough for speech. However, he found a way.

"He was…a student at the academy…we had the same introductory class. He was studying to be a healer. He was very shy and reserved. We didn't talk much at all for a while. But I pursued him eventually…"

The corners of the king's mouth twitched in a brief smile. "There's more…"

"We were together for a while…" Alphonse struggled to continue. Confusion over where this was coming from and reliving those vivid memories was slowly getting the best of him. "Then he became ill and - "

"He was a half-breed like me…but he could use magic…that's why they let him into the academy." King Yuuri interjected.

Alphonse nodded, trying to control his thoughts. "His parents were wealthy, so they were able to buy his way in, despite him being a half-blood."

"He was a verschmelzung like me…" Yuuri said in wonder.

Alphonse choked. "Yes…"

The soldier felt the presence shift. The air became still. A sudden familiarity came over him and he turned once again to the point where the king stared so intently, but found nothing.

'Nikki?'

"He didn't make it…" The king said sadly. "He was chased by the dead up to one of the towers…You tried to get him down."

It would forever be a memory burned into Alphonse's psyche until the day he died. He could remember the cold wind blowing around them, he could see Niklas' nightshirt billowing around him as he clung to the rail, ready to jump to his death. He remember reaching out to take Niklas' hand and being so happy wen the other man slowly reached or him, only for Niklas to lose his balance and topple over to the cold pavement. He could even remember the sounds of bone cracking and blood splattering when Niklas' body made impact.

"I- I did!" Alphonse tried and failed to hold back the sob, he refused to cry in front of his king, but it was increasingly difficult to not do so. He nervously dragged a hand through his hair. "He was…crazed. He had escaped from the infirmary and I was trying to get him back to his bed. The doctors – _Marko_ – had confined him to his room and they even tied him up and _I let them_!"

"Niklas wasn't sick…" The King continued, though it seemed like he too was trying to remain composed.

_'I'm not sick!_' How many times had that phrase repeated itself over and over again in his mind. That one statement the only clue to what was really happening to Niklas and he was so foolish as to not heed it, even then with his lover teetering on the edge of certain death. Still, he had disregarded it.

"No, no, he wasn't" Alphonse said, head bowed in shame. "He wasn't mad. But they – I didn't know what was going on with him. I just…wanted him to get better."

"He tried to tell you…."

Yes, he had. But Alphonse had so stupidly chosen not to listen. He had taken the words of a callous doctor over his own lover and administered those powerful drugs himself that made Niklas tired and disoriented. He had rushed off the nightmares and tantrums as part of the transformation – but he never equated it with actual ghosts that were drawn to Niklas' heightened sensitivity. He had just ignored them.

"I didn't listen…" Alphonse whispered.

"You didn't know…" The king tried to comfort him, but it was of no use.

"That's no excuse!" Alphonse suddenly cried. "I should have paid attention. I should have listened more. I just went with what everyone else said and believed he was slowly going insane…but I still loved him! I really did…I just….I just wanted to help him and I messed everything up!"

Alphonse was openly crying now. Tears trickled down his face, dignity and propriety be damned. It was too much. Just too much.

"There's nothing you could have done…" King Yuuri replied, but his speech seemed stilted and distant – like he was repeating something already said.

"How do you know?" Alphonse exclaimed. "How do you know all this?"

King Yuuri pointed to the empty corner. "Niklas told me. He's explaining everything to me."

Startled, Alphonse spun on his heel to face the corner. His eyes strained against the corner table, vase and wall, but found nothing out of the ordinary. But his mind bade him look deeper.

"He wants you to know that…you did the best you could…" King Yuuri said with a gentle smile. "You did everything that you thought was right. You didn't know what was really going on."

Alphonse registered what the king was saying, though he was looking frantically around the room desperate to see what the king was seeing. He remembered what Gilbert told them about the king's new powers. "Can you see him? Is he here now?"

King Yuuri nodded. "It's time to stop punishing yourself," he continued. "He forgave you a long time ago when he entered Paradise. He's happy now and he wants you to know that you can be happy now too."

"I…don't think I can..." Alphonse whimpered. The feelings were too much for him and he was becoming dizzy from looking around the room so quickly. If Niklas was there then he so badly wanted to see him for himself. He had to.

"You never tried," King Yuuri said. "But he says you can't go on like this. He wants you to be happy."

"Why can't I see him?" Alphonse asked desperately.

"He's not strong enough to take form," the king explained. "He's just a presence and since he moved on, there's no need for him to appear. He has no connection to this world anymore."

That was a hard truth to take. _No connection_. "What about me, then?"

'_Please tell him I love him…'_

The king smiled sadly. "He loves you more than anything, that's why it pained him to see you be so sad and angry all the time. He wants and needs you to move on so you can be happy."

"I can't be happy without him!" Alphonse sobbed. "He made me happy!"

"You made him happy, too," Yuuri said. "But he doesn't want you to waste away because of him. You deserve better."

"What else does he tell you?" Alphonse asked.

The king paused for a moment. "He tells me that no one is truly at fault. You, especially. And he doesn't know how to get that through to you because you're stubborn."

In spite of himself, Alphonse let out a small cough of a chuckle. "That sounds like him. But I could never forget him."

The king chuckled a bit, too. "He says you don't have to forget him in fact, if you try to forget him, he says he'll haunt you in your sleep. He wants you to allow yourself to find happiness and live your life that way the two of you wanted."

"I don't know how…"

"He says try it one day at a time and go from there," King Yuuri said. "He also says you have me, your king. I'd be happy to help you, Alphonse."

It was such a small gesture. An offer of help. But it came from the most powerful man in the world…a man who considered himself more of a friend rather than a monarch. That was something so uniquely King Yuuri. That he could surpass class and status and reach out to a lowly lieutenant such as himself. It meant a lot to Alphonse.

"I…guess then I could try…for his sake…" Alphonse said finally. He suddenly felt lighter and freer than he had in a very long time.

King Yuuri broke into a wide grin. "That's all he can ask of you…"

Unable to hold back the sudden wave of tears, Alphonse had to excuse himself before he caused further embarrassment. "May I be excused, your Majesty?"

The king nodded his permission and with a short bow, Alphonse made to exit the bedroom to make sense of what had just occurred

"Alphonse?"

Alphonse turned to face the king, who still had his hand tangled in Bielefeld's long blonde hair. Alphonse would forever wonder how his captain had managed to sleep through all that. He guessed it just showed the exhaustion his lord had suffered the past few weeks.

"Yes, your Majesty?"

The king collected his thoughts and then spoke. "I really am here for you, should you ever need me. My memory is shot, but I do remember you being there to help me and if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have made it."

"Your Majesty is very kind," Alphonse said. "I….to be honest…I just didn't want to see the same mistakes that cost Niklas his life happen again. I just couldn't."

"And they didn't. I'm in your debt," The king said with a short bow of his head.

"You are not indebted to me, your Majesty," Alphonse replied. "Seeing you well is reward enough."

"I thank you, Alphonse von Weber. You are a good man and I'm happy you are in my service."

Alphonse bowed again. "You are most welcome, your Majesty."

Alphonse turned to leave again, but a question popped up in his mind.

"If I may ask, your Majesty. Why did you say Niklas was my fiancé?"

The smile on the king's face was bittersweet. "He knows you were going to propose to him. He wants you to know that he would have said yes."

Another sob choked its way out of Alphonse. He had to leave before he completely lost all dignity. Unable to form words, he simply nodded and quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him and heading back to his own room to be alone.

Yuuri watched the closed door for a long time. He didn't know what had come over him. One minute he had been speaking to Alphonse and then a pretty young man just appeared in the corner behind the young lieutenant. Even though he had never seen the young man before, Yuuri felt nothing but peace from the entity and when the entity begged him to relay his words to the jaded young solider, he had to comply. As the ghost of Niklas von Weber – as the ghost introduced itself - explained the truth behind Alphonse's actions, Yuuri understood the gravity of the situation and attempted to bring closure to a very beautiful romance that ended in tragedy.

Despite previously being against homosexuality, Yuuri had grown to accept that part of his new home over time and he couldn't deny the depth of the love Alphonse and Niklas had for each other, even beyond death.

A statement from Gilbert only a day prior echoed in Yuuri's tired mind.

'This is only a curse if you let it become that. For every evil spirit there are more who mean no harm and simply want their message to be heard. Often, they have witnessed the chaos that unfolded after their passing and they want to guide their surviving loved ones back onto the right path. It is our mission to bridge the gap between the living and the dead and bring everyone to peace."

Yuuri had just used his new powers to bring closure to Alphonse, a soldier he barely knew but had inadvertently played a vital role in saving his life. AS his memories returned, Yuuri saw the pain and need to compensate for past sins that lay just behind Alphonse's kind light eyes and he was able to ease that pain, if only a little. That was the first time his new powers showed themselves to be more than just a burden he would have to live with.

That would be his new life; bring closure and mend the bonds between the living and the dead and protect himself from evil spirits that sought to use his powers for their own dark purposes.

But if this new skill could be good in the end, maybe he could survive.

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been four weeks since Yuuri had won back his body and life, and four weeks since Yuuri had assessed the extent of the damage he had done to his kingdom.

Despite the assurances from his cabinet, after four weeks of bedrest, Yuuri was eager to get back to work and see for himself what had happened during his "illness."

Yuuri slumped against the railing of the walkway that surrounded the central gardens. Yuuri had found a precious moment to himself to process the immense amount of information that had been dumped on him the second he returned to work.

The extent of what Yuuri's out of control powers had wreaked on the kingdom was beginning to sink in. The sheet of paper in his hand was the latest report from the dozens of sub-territories hit by the storm.

"…_.the surrounding crops have been drowned in flood water, eight of the sixteen farmhouses have been destroyed or damaged by the constant rain and hail. Twenty people reported missing, fourteen confirmed dead, one hundred injured or displaced…."_

This sub-territory was one of the better off regions. Territories closest to the capital – Bielefeld, Christ, Karbelnikoff and Grantz – were the hardest hit with nearly a third of the farmland rendered useless from the mudslides and torrential rain. Those further away sustained less damage but where in just as desperate need for aid as the others.

Yuuri absently stared at the document. It was a request for aid in the form of food, and medicine as well as military back up. There was dozens more like it, and Yuuri would have to decide which territories received aid first and how much to give them. The demand would stretch Shin Makoku's resources to their very limit.

Yuuri was unsure if he should cry or run and hide. A part of him wished to be back in a coma. At least he wouldn't have to see what his own incompetence had done to his people.

He had heard it several times from several people: this wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame, he had no control over what happened. And yet, it was his magic that single-handedly ruined his kingdom and had every noble sending angrily worded letters demanding answers he wasn't sure he would ever have.

The immensity of Yuuri's powers was shocking. His entire life had been spent allowing his alter ego – now known as a manifestation of Elberich's soul – to defeat his enemies and return order to the kingdom, but it had never occurred to him just how destructive that power could be until it had turned against his family and subjects. It was terrifying.

'I've failed as a king…..I've failed to protect my people. I let myself fail.' Yuuri thought bitterly. 'I don't deserve to be king after this."

The mountains of reports that were currently weighing down Yuuri's desk were a testament to the warning Gilbert had given him during their last meeting.

"_I…cannot think of any other way to say this to you, your Majesty. But currently, you are a danger to everyone around you, including yourself. You were gifted with great power, but none of the skill required to wield such power. I beg that you consider a leave of absence and come with me to the wilderness and I can teach you how to control you new gifts without the worry of harming others." _

A danger to others. Awkward Yuuri Shibuya of Japan was a danger to others. It was almost laughable. Yuuri Shibuya, the target of school bullies, had been a menace to his own kingdom, Feared and probably now hated, by the masses and definitely the nobility, who were bombarding Gwendal and Yuuri with letters demanding answers.

The last thing Yuuri needed to do was disappear. It would be seen as abandonment. Yuuri had worked hard to prove his loyalty to his new home, mostly by limiting his visits to earth to only twice a year, but even when his trips to then other dimension were planned and his return were punctual, the nobles still saw it as an act of disloyalty.

Murata had been present at the same meeting and he suggested an idea that would make things easier, but at the same time ruin one of the most tumultuous and meaningful relationships Yuuri had. And he couldn't ruin that. He just couldn't. It was that suggestion that had hung above Yuuri's mind for the past few days. Not the reports of death and destruction, but the idea of robbing his best friend of any autonomy he had.

'I can't do this…'

"I thought I'd find you here…"

Yuuri glanced briefly over his shoulder at Wolfram, who stood with his arms crossed in a huff after searching for him for who knows how long.

"Sorry…" Yuuri muttered and then turned back to staring into the large fountain in the courtyard of the castle. The fountain was still filled with various branches, twigs, leaves and other debris from the torrential rain that had plagued the kingdom for a month. Yuuri was still muddy on the details, but according to Conrad, ever since he fell under Elberich's possession, a terrible storm had ravaged the country. Gilbert theorized that it was a side effect of Yuuri's water magic being out of control. The thought added to Yuuri's already overwhelming guilt at yet again being an inept ruler.

"Have you been here all morning? Everyone was looking for you. You shouldn't be out alone in your condition," Wolfram said, taking a seat beside the king.

"I'm just fine," Yuuri mumbled somewhat irritably. The constant attention from his retainers was overwhelming at times. They alternated between showering Yuuri with attention and recoiling from him in fear if he showed even the slightest bit of tension. However, he didn't blame them. He had been little more than an animal the past few days and Elberich's aura still permeated the atmosphere.

"Even if you are, it still worries us when you disappear without notice," Wolfram scolded, though it was half-hearted.

Wolfram tried to offer Yuuri a comforting smile, but the king simply turned his gaze back to the desolated fountain. Wolfram sighed and silently watched his fiancé lose himself in his thoughts.

Wolfram wanted more than anything to see Yuuri smile again. It felt like it had been decades since he had seen that classic Yuuri smile where Yuuri's eyes would light up, his cheeks would puff up and his lips pulled into that goofy looking grin. Wolfram could remember a time when he found that smile so annoying and unbefitting of a monarch, especially when Yuuri flashed it in front of visiting dignitaries. But now, Wolfram missed it.

Yuuri's health had been steadily improving since he had eradicated Elberich once and for all. While he was still very weak, Yuuri was getting better physically – however, mentally and emotionally, Yuuri's well being was ambiguous.

Gilbert had informed them all that with Elberich's spirit gone, Yuuri's transformation into a Verschmelzung could complete without interruption. He had told them that when he awoke, Yuuri would be a new person and have new powers that would need to be controlled lest he fall into madness. He had also told them that the psychological damage inflicted by Elberich's malice was deep and likely irreversible. Yuuri would need their strength and support if he would ever be able to recover.

Which reminded Wolfram…

"How did your meeting with Gilbert and Marko go?"

Yuuri let out a long sigh, not looking up from the fountain. After a long pause, he finally, slowly, answered.

"Well, Marko says my injuries are healing nicely," Yuuri began quietly, picking invisible dirt off his pants. "My two halves have merged fully and I should be back to health in a few weeks."

"That's great, Yuuri," Wolfram smiled. Any positive news of Yuuri's recovery made Wolfram want to grin. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just to keep drinking this potion he gave me to help me sleep and stop any pain I might feel," Yuuri answered, though Wolfram didn't miss the slight crack in his voice at the end and the glassy look Yuuri's eyes had taken on as he repeated what the doctor had said.

"Yuuri," Wolfram said gently, reaching out and turning Yuuri to face him with his hand. Wolfram's heart broke a little bit at the heavy sadness and exhaustion on Yuuri's face. "What's wrong? What did Marko really say?"

The corners of Yuuri's mouth quivered as if he was holding back tears. Yuuri looked everywhere but at Wolfram before landing back onto that blasted fountain in a vain attempt to hide his distress.

"Gilbert said," Yuuri started and then cursed in his native language when his voice broke again. When he gathered himself he tried again. "Gilbert said that while Elberich was destroyed, it didn't change the fact that I can communicate with the dead. He even said that may be why Elberich was able to possess me. Like all ghosts, Elberich was drawn to me and the fact that I was made from his soul just sealed my fate."

"I remember that," Wolfram said quietly.

Yuuri nodded sadly. "I'm a _channeler_. Like, I communicate with spirits by letting them possess me and that's how they share their memories. Their feelings, and memories literally become mine. To make it even _better_, channeling puts me at a higher risk of being possessed again. It's just too much!"

Wolfram suppressed a shudder.

"That would…not be good at all," was all Wolfram could really think to say. They had already seen firsthand what an angry ghost would do with Yuuri's immense power.

Yuuri continued. "Should I ever lose control of a spirit during a 'channeling', then that spirit could gain control of my water magic. With training and meditation, I can learn to control my psychic powers and my water magic as one entity, but it would mean leaving you all behind for months. I can't do that!"

"Surely, there has ot be some way? You have to learn how to control your powers," Wolfram said.

"I'm the king of Shin Makoku," Yuuri replied as if it were a surprise revelation. "I can't just disappear into the wilderness for months, maybe even years, when I have a kingdom to run!" Yuuri scoffed. "That is if anyone wants me to be king. I'd doubt it."

"But, you should learn to control your powers," Wolfram stated. "I would rather you go into the wilderness and learn to manage your powers than stay here and struggle! That would only make things worse!"

"I know," Yuuri replied. "And I told Gilbert as much….then I spoke with Murata about it and he suggested that I…" Yuuri gulped and regarded Wolfram with a conflicted expression.

"That you what?" Wolfram leaned in closer in anticipation.

Yuuri answered in a voice so small and timid that Wolfram had to strain to hear him.

"I….could go ahead and marry you and then you could rule while I go off with Gilbert and master my powers until I'm strong enough to return."

"Oh…." Wolfram felt his heart drop. He was aware of a law that said the spouse of the king could rule in his stead should he go off to war or fall ill. But if they acted on that law, it would drastically alter the dynamic of his and Yuuri's already tumultuous relationship.

But if it meant that Yuuri would recover better and learn to control his powers then Wolfram would be willing to give himself over to a loveless marriage if it meant helping Yuuri. He could care for the kingdom while Yuuri got better.

Wolfram steeled himself. "Well, we had planned to marry anyway, so in a couple of months, you can go off with Gilbert for training while I - "

The sharp look Yuuri gave him silenced the blond.

"I'm not going to marry you for that, Wolfram," Yuuri said deliberately.

Wolfram said nothing but looked down sadly at the ground. Deep down, he knew this would happen. It might not have been an angry 4000-year-old spirit, but he knew that something or someone would stop him from marrying Yuuri. He knew it and yet kept a tiny spark of hope that had now been crushed by his fiancé.

"I have no right to ask you to marry me…"

Wolfram looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"I have no right to ask anything of you anymore, Wolfram," Yuuri said, in disgust of himself. "I have done nothing but cause you trouble and suffering for so long. I can't with good conscience ask you to marry me. Not when I'm like this."

"Yuuri," Wolfram started carefully. "None of that was your fault. You had no control over what happened. You are just as much a victim as anyone. You suffered more than any of us. We're here to help you get better. I'm here."

"And that's the problem!" Yuuri cried out angrily, standing up to glare down at Wolfram. "You're always helping me! You're always protecting me and look what happened! You almost died. I almost killed you because I was too weak to fight off Elberich! Not only was I weak, I was too jaded and miserable to really put up a fight!"

Yuuri ran shaky hands through his messy hair, making the black locks stick out at every angle. The sight would have been comical if it weren't for the distraught expression on Yuuri's face that struck Wolfram to his core.

"I've always let you, Conrad or Gwendal handle my problems for me! I treated everything like it was some kind of role-playing game. It wasn't until I was older that I realized this was real, you were real, and me actually being in charge of an entire country was real! I couldn't handle it!"

Yuuri slumped forward hopelessly. "So I just let things slide by, I went through the motions all the while growing more tired, resentful, and angry. That's how Elberich possessed me. The negativity I had inside was what let him in."

Wolfram wanted to argue that what Yuuri was saying wasn't true. But he knew it was. They had seen the gradual change in their king from sweet, cheerful teen to sullen and sometimes even bitter young man. While Yuuri maintained his personable manner, there was that underlying sense that it was for show. The light had gone from Yuuri, though none of them knew how to address it. Wolfram wished they had confronted it earlier, but hindsight was always perfect.

"It's because of me that Shin Makoku was basically destroyed," Yuuri said guiltily. "I wasn't strong enough to fight because I didn't care. I was selfish."

"You had no way of knowing this would happen, Yuuri!" Wolfram protested. "Yes, you had your problems, but everyone does! We all go through times of feeling like nothing matters. Conrad went through that during the war. I went through it with my father! We all know the pain of failure, and disenchantment. It is not more your fault than it is ours! You didn't know this would happen!"

"But I should've done something when I saw what was happening!" Yuuri cried.

"You didn't know what was happening!" Wolfram refused to budge. "You were ill, Yuuri! You didn't know what was going on and neither did we! We were in way over our heads and yet, we survived! And we will help you rebuild the kingdom. All will be well, I promise you."

"Not with me," Yuuri choked, blinking back tears. "Not with me as king. I'm some "fused being" that no one believed existed who is able to talk to dead people and could probably flatten an entire city with no problem – oh, and let's not forget my new powers leave me mentally unstable!"

The self-hatred coming from Yuuri took Wolfram aback. He tried to reach out to comfort Yuuri but his hand was angrily slapped away as Yuuri lost himself in his own misery.

"I'm a freak!" Yuuri cried. "A schizophrenic freak! Even if I can learn to control my powers and protect myself, I could still lose control and hurt others. I could hurt you! And I would rather die than hurt you again, Wolfram!"

Yuuri paused and regarded Wolfram for a long time as if contemplating some huge decision. The dreaded feeling inside Wolfram grew when Yuuri spoke again.

"And that's why I can't ask you to marry me, Wolfram. I can't let you stay. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone _normal_." Yuuri stated with bitter resolve.

"And who decided that was your decision to make?"

Yuuri started when Wolfram suddenly went from sad and pleading to angry and confrontational. It had been a while since Yuuri had seen Wolfram lose his temper and it was just as intimidating as before.

Wolfram stood to face Yuuri head on. "You cannot just toss me aside saying that I deserve better. How dare you insult me like that? You're basically calling me stupid for caring about you! Are you going to use those new-fangled powers of yours to give me back the last three years of my life that were spent with you?"

Yuuri said nothing, he only looked down at his feet in shame. Wolfram glared at him, silently demanding answers and wondering how Yuuri could be so ludicrous and so _intentionally_ dense to the feelings of the people who cared for him.

_That_ was selfishness. That was a display of unwarranted, misdirected martyrdom that only made to enrage Wolfram even more as he tried desperately to reach out to his damaged love and best friend. Yuuri and the kingdom may have been saved, but there was still a desperate battle for the salvation of his heart. A heart that Yuuri apparently didn't want saved.

"You're a callous bastard," Wolfram growled under his breath, causing Yuuri to flinch. "To belittle my feelings because you can't allow yourself to believe that you are worth sacrificing for. You are worth loving, Yuuri."

"Th-that's not what I'm trying to do at all!" Yuuri protested, albeit somewhat weakly.

"Then what is it?" Wolfram demanded, unmoved.

Yuuri started a sentence a few times, and stumbled over his words quite horribly before he was able to create a clear explanation. Then he straightened himself and made his statement. One that he had been contemplating the entire morning.

"I don't think I should be king anymore," he said, though he was frustrated that instead of a solemn, even delivery, it came out as a broken whisper. "I'm….unfit. I should resign."

Wolfram stared blankly at Yuuri for a long time. Yuuri tried not to squirm under the burning gaze that dared him to repeat what he had just said. Wolfram's eyes flickered across Yuuri's face, searching for any indication that Yuuri had gone truly mad or was serious about giving up his God-given role as king of the Demon Kingdom.

"Why?" it was a single word that came out as a growl. Every muscle in Wolfram's body tensed, much like how Yuuri had seen him do when he was about to yell at someone, usually him. Wolfram didn't scream or raise his voice as much as he used to, but his wrath was still very potent and could be felt to the bone when he lost his temper.

"Why would you ever say that _now_?" Wolfram hissed lowly, a much scarier tone than his loud yelling. This was a tone reserved for when Wolfram had reached the very end of his tolerance for stupidity and was trying very hard not to strangle the object of his ire.

"I've completely failed!" Yuuri nearly sobbed breaking under Wolfram's intensity. He swung out his arm in a wide arc to show Wolfram the devastated courtyard and presumably the rest of the battered palace. "I destroyed the palace, and my influence on the weather destroyed villages and crops, and we're still trying to tally up the final number of how many people died from storm-related accidents! Because of me! God knows how much time and money will be needed to fix all this-"

Wolfram sighed harshly in exasperation. "These are things, Yuuri! Stone, wood and paint! Easily attainable!" Wolfram pointed to the northern wing of the palace. "This castle has been repaired countless times! Has Gunter not told you of the Great Earthquake of 1066? Or the fire that burned down my mother's apartments that _I_ started when I was a child? Or better yet, the Siege of 2016, when enemies set off a bomb that completely obliterated the middle of the palace? Should I tell you of the dozens of times Shin Makoku has been invaded?"

Wolfram took a step closer, pinning Yuuri with his gaze. "Shin Makoku has survived much worse than what you've inflicted upon it and it will continue to do so as long as her king remains strong. So the worst thing you can do right now is say you're not good enough and step down and render everything that I, my brothers, and everyone in this castle who has stood behind you - when common sense would dictate the opposite - completely meaningless!"

Yuuri was silent. But the stoic mask he had put on during Wolfram's rant cracked and the troubled young man choked back a sob and buried his face in his hands to hide his breakdown. The sight caused Wolfram's own emotions to get the best of him as he too fought back tears.

"I've done so many things wrong," Yuuri cried, not bothering to really hide the tears anymore. "I-I can't see myself ruling this kingdom when I've done so much damage!"

"Then why would you leave us with this damage to fix and no king to lead us?" Wolfram said. "Why would you run away and leave us behind to pick up the pieces without you? You're doing exactly what you said you didn't want to! You're leaving us to fix the problems!"

Yuuri had thought about that. He knew it would be unfair to leave the kingdom in its current state and expect the others to undo the damage. However, at the same time, he had thought it would be best if he simply just left and let his retainers restore the kingdom without his blubbering interference. Yuuri simply didn't trust himself to undo the wrongs that had been done using his powers and mind. Gilbert's diagnosis had been blunt; Yuuri was a danger to himself and those around him if he didn't learn to control his powers. So to Yuuri, the logical thing would be to remove himself from the situation and allow his friends to repair their home without fear of it being destroyed again. He also didn't want to place anyone in a position of alienated loyalty because of their oaths to the crown.

"I don't want to leave….I don't trust that I can be a good ruler anymore, Wolfram," Yuuri whispered sadly. "I don't trust myself not to lose control and hurt those that I care about. I'm not fit to rule and I can't let you sacrifice your lives and reputations by following me. That's why it's best if I just go away."

"Why can't you accept that you are worth the sacrifices we make?" Wolfram whispered brokenly, all anger gone, leaving behind a quiet desperation to reach his fiancé. Wolfram affectionately brushed aside a stray piece of black hair. Yuuri dared to meet his eyes, looking dejected and ashamed.

"We follow you because we love you," Wolfram whispered. "You're Conrad's godson, Gunter's star pupil, Greta's father, Gwendal's king and…..and my beloved fiancé. Why is that hard to understand?"

"Why?" Yuuri finally dared to speak the question was quiet and husky from Yuuri's valiant efforts to suppress his crying. Wolfram could tell Yuuri was fighting him on this, though not outwardly, but the cracks in Yuuri's psyche were widening and falling apart. "Why do you love me, Wolfram?"

"I don't need a reason," Wolfram said with a gentle smile. "Love follows no such logic and neither do I."

Cupping Yuuri's tear stained cheeks in each hand, Wolfram touched his forehead to Yuuri's, bringing the other man close to him until their bodies were pressed flush against each other. Yuuri accepted Wolfram into his personal space, and the blonde prince felt all the tension and resistance melt away.

Yuuri wanted to say more. He wanted to protest against Wolfram's words. However, he found that no argument would come to him as he was tired of resisting, tired of fighting the inevitable even if it went against all logical thought. He couldn't bring himself to say that he had wanted to let Wolfram go for the same reason Wolfram wanted to stay. No words came to him as he simply surrendered himself to Wolfram's touch and to an uncertain future full of trials, failures and eventual successes as he, against his better judgment, didn't resign and instead would fix the problems he caused and restore his kingdom to her rightful glory.

"Let me help you heal, Yuuri," Wolfram whispered, his breath ghosting over Yuuri's face and closed eyes. "Let me love you."

"Okay, Wolfram…."

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Far away, deep in the dark old forest of the mountains, an old man sat straight up in his bed, ignoring the painful cracks in his tired bones.

"Elsa! Elsa!" His cracked voice called out into the early evening.

Moment later, a young woman stepped inside the large tent, the smell of firewood and roasted meat clung to her tattered dress.

The old man took in the vision of his young granddaughter. With great joy, he stood up, ignoring her protests and staggered toward the entrance of the tent.

"I have had a vision, Elsa!" He said unable to ccontain his excitement. "I have had the vision we've been waiting for!"

Realization dawned on Elsa. "No…no, it's impossible!"

"Yes! We can finally come out of hiding! We're no longer in exile!" The man shouted as he tore through the flaps to step into the center of their make shift camp.

Scattered around the great bonfire, people of various genders, and ages all went about their business. They paused when their elder stepped forward – something rare considering he was a cripple and lifted his arms and shouted to the tribe.

"My children! My children! I have had a vision. Samael has spoken to me in a dream and it is great news!"

"What is it, Father?" A young man said, walking to stand next to Elsa.

"Our savior has finally arrived!" The old man cried out, nearly dancing in place. "It is the new demon king! He has finally been realized!"

"But you said that the new king wasn't our Savior!" The young man said skeptically, but like the others he watched the old man intently.

The elder spun on his heel to face the cynical young man. "I said he might not be! I didn't want to spread false hope that the demon king was a double black and our Savior. After all, you know those wretched Aristocrats could've dyed some bloke's hair for their own deceitful purposes. But now, the Death Gods have confirmed the truth. The King is a true double black and even more importantly – he has been gifted with Second Sight!"

Everyone within the camp gave a collective gasp.

"There's no way…" said the young man. "It's been four thousand years. This can't be possible!"

"It is! It is!" The elder was nearly ecstatic. "My children! Our Savior has been awakened! The one who will deliver us from exile and avenge us! The True Demon King Elberich has been reborn!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The 23rd and final chapter of The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya!

Thank you, grazie mille, gracias, danke, salamat, and ogromnoe spasibo!

Thank you everyone – old and new readers alike. You alone have made it possible for me to complete this story after a long and grueling three years! I can't believe you all stuck around this long, but I am truly grateful to all of you. I hope this story has lived up to the promises made in its earliest chapters. At the very least I hope you enjoyed this story.

Writing this was a challenge. When I first came up with the idea, I wasn't sure how it would be viewed in the KKM fandom. KKM is such a light-hearted and adventuresome anime, a horror/drama fic seemed out of place. I also didn't know how the readers would respond to a story, but I had never written a fic before and I wanted to create something truly unique that was also adherent to the KKM mythology. I am also happy that many of you liked my original characters. I'm always skeptical of OCs so I'm joyous that many of you lied Marko, Alphonse and Gilbert.

I've learned a lot on this adventure. I hope to improve more as I continue to write fan fiction and my own original works. I have not left the KKM fandom as it is one of my absolute favorite animes and I wish to explore the world of KKM and its lovable characters even more.

Even then, this story was incredibly difficult to pull off. Even now, having finished it, I feel like I introduced a bunch of points and sublots that didn't really come to fruition, or at least, not how I wanted them to be. I think that was a case of me biting off more than I could chew and being an amateur writer. I can only hope that I managed to tie everything up and leave my readers satisfied.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and the story. I took a different take with Yuuri and Wolfram instead of having them fall in love and confess, I instead wanted to introduce a new phase of their relationship that will eventually become love. Yuuri has accepted Wolfram's feelings, but it is still new. However, don't worry, I am a devoted Yuuram fangirl and will settle for nothing less than those two getting together. The beginning of Yuuri's new life and identity has started and we will see more developments and new characters and new conflicts that will test the sanity and strength of our very young monarch and his devoted fiancé.

I have decided to write a sequel – that was obvious from the last scene, lol! – but when I post the first chapter remains to be seen. I'm starting my first year of grad school and I will be a teacher's assistant for a course so my time will be pretty preoccupied. But one of these days, I will sit down and finish what I started. In the meantime, feel free to reread this chapter, your favorite scenes or some of my other shorter fics.

I would like to extend a special thank you to Asura-chan and Sweetbox – my beta readers for their help and encouragement.

As always, thank you for reading my story and sticking to it for so long. I look forward to hearing what your thoughts are and if you have any final questions that weren't answered in the story please let me know and I will answer them promptly.

Please review and thank you, thank you, thank you!

With love,

ElisiansBane


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